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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
























































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AN 


EXILE’S ROMANCE 

OR 

REALITIES OF AUSTRALIAN LIFE. 


BY 

ARTHUR LOUIS. \A^,. , , ,, 

A '' 

AUTHOR OF 

“DOLLARS OR SENSE,” “OUR CRUISE TO NEW GUINEA,” ETCi 






Copyright, 1887. 

G IV. Dillingham , Pttblisher, 

Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 

LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 
MDCCCLXXXVII. 




</V 

\ 





y 


rv 

y 


Stereotyped by 
Samuel Stodder, 

42 Dey Street, N. Y. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

L 

A Little Gamble. . 

• • 


Page 

. 7 

II. 

Two Friends. 

# • 

* 

. 27 

III. 

Good-bye 


i 

. 34 

IV. 

Cnrrendore . 

• • 

• 

. 44 

V. 

A Fight . 

• • 

• 

. 56 

VL 

The Sailor’s Home . 

• • 

• 

. 72 

VII. 

A Ride . 

• • 


. 81 

VIII. 

The Wallaby Drive 

• • 


. 90 

IX. 

Missing . 

• • 


. 100 

X. 

Jim Atkins’ Picnic . 

• • 


. 106 

XI. 

The Wool-shed 



. 120 

XII. 

“ The Next Merry Meeting.” 


. 129 

XIII. 

A Journey to Sydney 

< 


. 151 

XIV. 

On Board the Flagship 

. 

• 

. 162 


[ 5 ] 


6 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

XV. 

Randwick Races . 


• 

Page 

. 173 

XVI. 

A Close Finish 

. 

. 

. 186 

XVII. 

News from Europe. 



. 107 

XVIII. 

New Caledonia. 



. 207 

XIX. 

The Prisons . 



. 217 

XX. 

Among Convicts 



. 227 

XXI. 

An Escape. 



. 238 

XXII. 

A Cannibal Dance . 



. 258 

XXIII. 

A Feathered King . 



. 266 

XXIV. 

A Password . 



. 280 

XXV. 

Lieut. The Hon. Cyril Danesbury, 

R. N. 290 

XXVI. 

Paris and London . 


, 

. 305 

XXVII. 

The Melbourne Club 



. 312 

XXVIII. 

The Melbourne Cup 


. 

320 

XXIX. 

The Ball. 



. 331 

XXX. 

Face to Face . 



. 339 

XXXI. 

A Lonely Life. 



. 352 

XXXII. 

An Awful Fate 



. 364 

XXXIII. 

Harmless Fictions . 



. 377 

XXXIV. 

A Kangaroo Hunt . 



. 386 


AN EXILE’S ROMANCE 


CHAPTER I. 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


“Well those were harmless pleasures enough, 

For I hold him worse than an ass 
Who shakes his head at a nich in the post, 

Or a quick thing over the grass — 

Go for yourself and go to win, 

And you can’t very well go wrong. 

Gad, if I’d only stuck to that 
I’d be singing a different song. 

“ As to the one I’m singing, 

It’s pretty well known to all, 

We knew too much, but not quite enough 
And so we went to the wall ; 

While those who cared not if the work was done 
How dirty their hands might be, 

Went up on our shoulders and kicked us down, 
When they got to the top of the tree.” — Gordon. 


T 


|AKE a pull, old chap,” said James Duncombe 
in a whisper, to his neighbor, “ I am sure 
you don’t realize how you are plunging. You have 
lost a tremendous lump already.” 


8 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


“All the more reason,” answered Arthur Dacre, 
in the same tone, “ all the more reason for a plunge. 
Must get it back, you know.” 

“Pshaw, chucking good money after bad. All 
Englishmen are vile gamblers, and you are no excep- 
tion to the rule. Look at our friend M. Jules Dau- 
rent, he lost fifty quid and then stopped, saying, “fai 
la demine , I will keep myself for another night.” 

“ Yes, that’s all very well for a chap who is as cold- 
blooded as a frog, but I can’t do that. When I lose, I 
like to get it back, or at any rate try to. And I’ve 
lost a pot of money in these rooms already ; it’s neck 
or nothing this time.” 

“ Then you’ll leave here with nothing, old boy,” 
said his friend, “ one doesn’t get round the cards by 
just wishing to, and if Croesus himself followed up a 
run of bad luck, it would break him.” 

“Oh, that’s rot,” answered Arthur, hastily, 
“ you’re one of the superstitious crowd who believe in 
all sorts of silly little theories. No, I’m going to play 
again. That spectacled old count can’t keep on win- 
ning all night, it isn’t in the law of probabilities.” 

“ Can’t he,” replied Duncombe. “ You’ll find out 
he’s a stayer in the end I fear. And what’s more, he 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


9 


knows how to back his luck, and plank it down when 
he’s winning. That man’s no fool.” 

The two speakers, who were helping themselves to 
refreshment from the sideboard, had just risen from 
a game of baccarat where very high play was going 
on. Joe Darvell had been giving a little dinner in 
his rooms, and as a not unnatural sequence, some one 
had suggested “a game of cards.” The suggestion 
was acted upon, and baccarat for mild stakes began ; 
but as is usually the case on these occasions, the stakes 
grew and grew, till by degrees the sums for which 
this party were playing had become pretty round 
and solid. 

Joe Darvell was one of the most popular men 
about town. His dinners were A. 1. That alone 
would be sufficient to account for the above mentioned 
popularity ; but added to this, there was the very 
great probability of being able to get a “ little gam- 
ble ” in his rooms after the dinners were done. 

Also, one always met good fellows there, fellows 
one knew, though sometimes, as to-night, for instance, 
there might occasionally be amongst the company a 
chap or two whom one hadn’t seen before ; but these 
were foreigners, people who had been civil to Joe in 
1 * 


10 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


Paris, or Brussels, and whom he was anxious to enter- 
tain in' return. 

Joe Darvell didn’t play much himself ; in fact, he 
didn’t care for it, he said, it didn’t amuse him. And 
sometimes he would add that he thought it a rotten 
cut-throating business for a lot of pals to sit down and 
try to win each other’s money. But as the other fel- 
lows always wanted to play after dinner, they might do 
as they liked ; it wasn’t for him to stop them, and of 
course he joined in for sociability’s sake. But on one 
point he was firm, nothing would persuade him to risk 
any big sum himself. If other fellows liked to “ gam- 
ble,” — well, they weren’t children, and they could 
please themselves, but he wasn’t going to waste his 
money in such a foolish, reckless manner. 

Arthur Dacre and Joe Darvell were great friends; 
the former had dined with Joe several times lately, 
and each time, after insisting on a game, had, much to 
his host’s regret, gone away a heavy loser on the 
night. 

The dinner this evening was principally in con- 
sequence of Arthur having come to beg Joe to get 
those fellows together again, so that he might have his 
revenge. Keluctantly, Darvell had consented, and 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


11 


allowed himself to be persuaded into a course of action 
of which he disapproved, for he was good nature per- 
sonified, and felt unable to refuse his friend anything 
it was in his power to do. Therefore, Arthur gained 
his point and the dinner had been given ; and a good 
one it had been pronounced by the appreciative guests. 
And now here they were, far into the small hours of 
the morning, about ten of them, playing for stakes, 
higher, far higher, than the host by any means ap- 
proved. And his friend Arthur Dacre, to please 
whom the dinner had been given, was the principal 
loser at the table ; in fact, the only big loser among 
them all. 

"While the packs were being broken and shufiled 
for a fresh deal, Duncombe had taken the opportunity 
of getting in a word of remonstrance with Arthur 
Dacre, but with what result we have already seen. 
At that moment the host himself came up, and lent 
his persuasion to that of Duncombe’s. 

“ Dear old boy ” he said, “ do please knock off. 
You have lost quite enough for one night, and besides 
which, think of me ; the game is in my rooms, and if 
you go on plunging like you are now doing, you may 
lose a pretty big sum before you know where you are. 


12 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


And if you won’t consider yourself, just reflect how it 
may affect me.” 

“ Oh, you’re all right,” laughed Arthur, a little 
unpleasantly, “ don’t you worry about me ; other peo- 
ple’s misfortunes are tolerably easy to bear ; I shan’t 
sing out or make a fuss, even if I lose all I’ve got 
don’t you fret.” 

Joe’s kind face looked pained. 

“That’s not like you, Arthur,” he said, “ you must 
know that I only spoke of myself, so as to see if feel- 
ing for others couldn’t have any effect upon you, as 
you don’t seem to have any feelings for yourself.” 

“Sorry, old chap,” replied Arthur, “didn’t mean 
to be nasty ; of course, I know you’re the best fellow 
in the world, but I can’t give in. I’ve lost a devil of 
a lot, and I’m going to get it back. So here goes.” 

And he moved once more towards the table. 

Joe sighed, and he and Duncombe exchanged looks 
as though to assure each other that they both felt con- 
vinced their friend had taken leave of his senses. Then 
they too resumed their respective seats. 

Arthur Daere, the young man supposed for the 
moment to have taken leave of his senses, was per- 
haps not at any time pre-eminently conspicuous for 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


13 


liis share of wisdom, but he had a frank, open face, 
and an habitual smile which always looked the very 
sign of a kind, trustful, easy-going nature, while his 
clear, bright blue eyes seemed to reflect to view, the 
good-will of the heart within. But at this moment 
they were bright with excitement, though the face 
itself was as cool as ever, and even the same kindly 
smile played about his lips. A man may control his 
features, and by strength of will crush down feelings 
he may desire to conceal, but eyes will ever tell a tale, 
and betray something of what is passing within, 
behind that outward mask of calm. 

This is not a very happy moment to select for 
introducing Arthur Dacre to my readers, and I fear it 
will not be easy for anyone to feel much sympathy for 
a young man who, though he appear pleasant to 
behold, is yet in the act of wasting such gifts of nature 
as he may possess, absorbed in the occupation of los- 
ing his money, with feverish impetuosity, in the small 
hours of the morning. But such things are, and if 
any interest can be felt for a young man in the posi- 
tion which I describe, then am I certain, that as his 
subsequent story is related, you will not fail to evince 
a kindly patience, and listen to the fate of one whom 


14 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


chance or folly sent adrift upon the broad surface of 
the world. 

We have doubtless, most of us, been forced to 
appear at moments when we might have rather wished 
to retire to brush ourselves up for the occasion, but 
we were not able to do so, and could only make the 
best of a bad job, while trusting that our present 
appearance might not, after all, tell against us, and 
ardently hope that those eyes which saw us, might 
not judge in haste, but reserve their opinion until 
some occasion in the future. Thus, I too trust you 
will withhold your judgment upon Arthur Dacre, 
who, as you see, is not a perfect man. Were he a 
very Apollo in appearance, and possessed of a nature 
which knew no guile, then I should not now be writing 
his histoiy. I could not. I have never met a per- 
fect man. Arthur Dacre is a type with which I am 
familiar, and such as he is will I describe him to you. 

Joe Darvell, the host, was, as I have said, one of 
the most popular of London men. He had a manner, 
a delightful manner. There is a charm in some men’s 
manner which immediately attracts. This charm Joe 
possessed in an eminent degree. Also he was ever 
ready to help a pal, always ready to give up to 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


15 


another, or put himself out to render a good turn. 
What wonder that he was popular ? Added to which 
he had, or seemed to have, lots of money, particularly 
ready money, so that fivers and tenners, sometimes 
even “ ponies ” were always forthcoming to help those 
in distress. And same London men, some who hold 
their heads the highest, wear the biggest buttonholes, 
and even ride the freest stepping hacks, are oft-times 
in distress. Why, I have known men borrow a fiver, 
“just one fiver” when almost at their wits’ end for 
money. One sovereign of this will go for a drive in 
the “ smartest ” hansom that can be procured, wherein 
the “ distressed one” will show himself “got up,” or 
as the Americans say “gotten up ” to the very nines. 
Another sovereign goes in entertaining a friend at din- 
ner at the club ; another in stalls at the play. There 
is skill in these matters, or rather in these sovereigns. 
And it is necessary that they should be laid out so as 
to produce the greatest possible idea of ready money 
with the least possible amount of expense. Many of 
these “ fivers ” had Joe disbursed. 

Again, I say, no wonder he was popular — but this 
is all outside of my story, we must go back to the card 
table. The packs are made ; the party is seated, and 


16 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


M. le Comte de Deauville is saying “ Messieurs faites 
vos jeux” The game as I said, was baccarat. Now, 
for fear of boring those people who have never played 
this game, I will not here describe it, but content my- 
self with saying that it is a game wherein money can 
be lost or won with very great rapidity. Those who 
have played the game and know all about it will, I am 
sure, agree with me that this is so. But the game is 
a fascinating one, and I believe that it is this very 
rapidity which fascinates, for, if you lose, it is comfort- 
ing to feel that only one moment will elapse before 
you have a chance of retrieving your fortune, while, 
if you win, you are equally eager to continue along 
such a pleasant golden road. Therefore, rapidity suits 
both parties, u Ceux qui gagnent et ceux gui per dent” 
The Count was having a run of luck, the bank seemed 
quite undefeated, and the banker was backing his luck, 
playing la lanque ouverte so that the punters might 
plunge their best against him. And they did plunge. 
Charlie Gawtry was staking fifties a shot, while Ar- 
thur Dacre, his face unmoved, but his eyes wearing 
an eager, anxious look, was going “ centuries.” Now 
this sort of sum mounts up, especially as there was 
nothing to counter-balance it on the winning side, for 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


17 


when the bank lost, Arthur invariably left his stake 
down, in the hopes of landing the “ coup de trois” 
that is, if he doubled his hundred he left two hundred 
for the next deal ; if that were doubled, he left the 
stake won and the original stake, four hundred, for 
his next shot. This was the coup he had endeavored 
to win, but luck was against the table, and the hun- 
dreds were invariably raked into the bank. At the 
conclusion of the deal, someone suggested the bank 
being put up to auction, but there was a general out- 
cry against this. Was the Comte willing to continue 
la banque ouverte ? 

“ Mais oui ,” said that gentleman. 

Then the individual who had ventured to suggest 
an auction was silenced, for surely it was better fun 
to punt against an unlimited capital than against a 
wretched four or five hundred pounds, which someone 
else might be willing to put up for a bank. 

“ Mais ga serait un mesquin jeu” cried M. Dau- 
rent, who had all this time remained spectator ; and 
“ how on earth are w T e to get our money back at that 
kind of bank ?” demanded one of the heaviest losers : to 
which the original speaker would most probably have 
desired to reply that it didn’t matter to him whether 


18 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


the plungers got their money back or not, but 
refrained. 

People who lose their money at cards are, as a 
rule, the most selfish of mankind, for they are apt to 
consider that their losses are equally interesting, and 
of quite as much moment to others as they are to 
themselves. 

The bank remained ouverte — that is, without limit, 
also it continued to win. At the end of it, the pun- 
ters appeared to have had enough ; someone proposed 
leaving off for the night, and the host warmly seconded 
the motion. The Comte was tired too, and' it was very 
little use anyone else attempting a fiddling little bank 
after that giant game. So it was universally agreed to 
stop. 

When counting up his losses, Arthur Dacre found 
that he had dropped somewhere about fifteen thousand 
pounds, for when his I. O. U.’s and cheques came in, 
he found they amounted to this very decent total. The 
week before, he had lost six thousand pounds ; the 
week before that, four thousand ; and sometime pre- 
vious he had started his ill-luck with a series of losses 
amounting to eight thousand pounds. Therefore, 
to-night about finished him, though he did not say so. 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


19 


He liad jestingly told Lis friend tliat to-nigLt meant 
neck or nothing. It was true ; Le now Lad notLing, 
for wlien Le Lad paid up, tLere was little more tlian 
notLing left. Tliougli otLers also Lad lost pretty 
freely, tliere were many to sympatliize witli ArtLur ; 
tlieir own losses dwarfed beside sucli a sum. But tLey 
agreed Le was a splendid sportsman ; Le took Lis ill- 
luck so well, and went about, now it was over, smiling 
and laughing, apparently the gayest of them all. 

And this gaiety was not altogether put on either. 
There is a certain relief when the battle is over and 
the worst is known. Then can one up and face it like 
a man ; the foe is there, the danger real, not now the 
time to quail, rather smile and be glad at the prospect 
of a fight, and the end of a torture which brings with 
it a certainty, however unwelcome, or unalluring that 
certainty may be. It is when the torture is going on, 
when the best or the worst may happen, either of the 
two at each moment as it passes by — this is trial, this 
is hard ; and if a man smile then, or go unmoved 
through such a time, it is because bodily sensation has 
been conquered by mind, while his nerves lie quelled 
by strength of spirit. No merit in smiling after- 
wards ; any fool can smile with relief. 


20 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


But Arthur Dacre is not a fool, for had he not 
smiled all along, though all along aware that what he 
was doing was folly, mad folly, and that mad folly his 
own free will, nay more, his own free will in the 
teeth of the advice of his friends. 

Such being the case, it may be supposed that pride 
alone would make him take the blows with smiles 
upon his face, and come up once more beaming, for 
another tussle with fortune and the cards. He was 
not proud of what he was doing, far from it. In his 
heart of hearts he was very much ashamed, but the 
mad fit was on him, a dogged English bulldog tenac- 
ity made him go obstinately on, flying in the face of 
fortune. He had lost his money ; he would get it back. 

Thus he argued within himself ; but surely he was 
not likely to cry out for pity while worsted in a con- 
test of which he was ashamed, or attract attention to 
his actions by demanding sympathy in his losses. 
And yet how many do this. How many men gamble 
and plunge, then as they get deeper and deeper into 
the mire, cry aloud for others to take note of their 
misfortune. Poor, weak aud foolish fools, if they 
only knew how beneath contempt such conduct does 
appear. 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


21 


At any rate, Arthur Dacre, on this present occa- 
sion, came as well out of such an ignoble contest as 
under the circumstances was possible. It is true there 
was nothing much to brag about, he had engaged in a 
low kind of war, but the bad action of which he had 
been guilty was done with as good grace as a bad 
action could be done. And now it was over, he was 
able to be as cheerful, as anyone there present. 

“ Don’t trouble, my boy,” he said to Darvell, as 
that gentleman began to condole “ it’s all in the for- 
tune of war, and someone must lose, and also some- 
one must win. I’m glad you got hold of something,” 
turning to George Duncombe, for whom he was writ- 
ing a cheque for his share of the spoil. But the larg- 
est cheques of all went to Bill Travers and Mons. 
le Comte. 

“Let me congratulate you on your lack,” he said 
to those two gentlemen, with a smile, who, as they 
took the welcome cheques expressed their sorrow at 
being obliged to rob him to such an extent. 

“Have another drink, anyone?” said the host. 

And then as he poured out a brandy and soda, 

“ Arthur, here’s to better luck next time.” 

“There’ll be no next time for me, Joe,” he 


22 




A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


answered, “ enough’s as good as a feast. I’ve had my 
revenge, and that’s finished it. But I want to say a 
word to you to-morrow, or rather to-day, old boy, if I 
can. Shall I come round at two o’clock? Will you 
be in ?” 


“ Yes, certainly,” answered Darvell, looking rather 
puzzled, “ what can I do for you. I fear if it is about 
to-night, your figures are too big for me to be of any 
use.” 


“Oh, it’s not that sort of thing,” said Arthur 
hastily, “ I can pay all they’ve shot me for, but it’s 
something more important still.” 

“All right, then,” replied Joe, in his kindest man- 
ner, “ two o’clock I’ll be here, and ready to do any- 
thing you may wish.” 

“ Now, goodnight. Goodnight, everyone,” said 
Arthur, in a louder tone to the general company, 

( bonsoir , messieurs ,” turning to the two Frenchmen 
who were saying something polite about hoping he 
would conquer fortune in the end and have better luck 
next time. 

“ And here’s to our next merry meeting,” added 
M. Daurent, lifting his glass to his lips in parting 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


23 


salute, “ next time we meet may you have meilleure 
chance .” 

And as the door closed this was the last speech 
which Arthur heard that night. 

Next time they met — ah, that would be a strange 
meeting in a strange land, and as to the meilleure 
chance — well, it is early days to discuss that now. 

Once outside in the street, Arthur walked a little 
way, and then stood still, and taking off his hat, bared 
his head, hot and throbbing yet, to the cool night 
air. Then he said “whew,” a prolonged drawn-out 
“whew” which conveyed volumes of meaning, when he 
supplemented this remark by saying out loud, “Well, 
I’ve been, and gone, and done it — Oh, it’s almost more 
than I can bear,” and for one moment his voice shook 
as though he would break down, bemoan his fate, let 
his nerves give way and cry over his misfortune like 
a woman. 

“No,” he cried, “'what am I thinking of?” and 
like a great Newfoundland dog, he gave himself a 
shake. “By Jove,” he went on, “I verily believe I 
w^ going to be false to my ow T n pet philosophy, and 
cry over spilt milk. No, never. Arthur Dacre ; 
you’re a man, you’ve been foolish, d — d foolish, but 


24 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


don't add to your folly. 4 When things are at their 
worst, then misfortune will mend.' 4 There is a tide 
in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads 
on to fortune.’ Ha, ha,” and he gave a rather 
hysterical laugh, 44 its a lowisli tide, this, but I’ll take 
it anyhow. ‘Needs must, &c.’ Well,” and he ran his 
fingers through his hair as he walked slowly down the 
street. 44 It’s no use bothering about it, I’m cleaned 
out, and I am not the first one to whom it has hap- 
pened. But still that doesn’t make it any the pleas- 
anter,” he thought. 44 It would scarcely comfort an eel 
to inform it that it wasn’t the first who had lost its skin 
in the painful manner peculiar to that class of fish. 
But still, one must say these things, just to argue with 
one’s self, as it were,” he went on in rapid thought. 

44 Ah, well, I must go. There’s no help for it. 
Seek the seclusion of far Australia, and leave the 
world and all its follies behind. But, oh, can I leave 
Edie ? That will be a wrench indeed. Why must I 
leave her ?” he asked himself, fiercely. 44 Why ? 
Because I’m a pauper,” came the self-answered reply, 
44 a wretched pauper — pauperized by gambling. Fool, 
fool, that I have been. Edie, I have lost you, lost 
your love. To-night I staked it on those accursed 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


25 


cards, and those accursed cards, they robbed me of 
my all. Oh, why did Ido it, why?” and here the 
poor young man came to a stand still beneath a lamp- 
post, and for the second time showed symptoms of 
breaking down. 

“ Oh, it is hard lines, that I should have had such 
luck. I couldn’t marry on what I had, as I have lost 
so much, and so to night I went for the gloves, and 
my love is lost to me forever. Oh, Edie,” he con- 
tinued, thinking half aloud, as he wandered on down 
the deserted streets. “ Oh, Edie, we shall have to 
part.” 

There was something very pathetic about this 
little drama, had one only been there to see. This 
young man alone in the desert of London streets, for 
the London streets at four in the morning are a 
desert indeed, walking along those silent thorough- 
fares, apparently the only living things beside him- 
self, an occasional policeman, or the noiseless prowling 
cats. This tall, well-dressed young man, strolling 
home at that hour, as though he had come fresh from 
some scene of dissipation and revelry, you would 
most probably have put down to be one of the many 
gay butterflies who had been passing the night in 


26 


A LITTLE GAMBLE. 


boisterous pleasure ; now weariedly seeking his bed, 
on which to sleep off all recollection of such feverish 
amusement. 

1 How you would wrong him. How dangerous it 
is to judge by appearance. From a scene of dissipa- 
tion he came, it is true, but his thoughts were not 
there, nor did he look forward to the forgetfulness of 
sleep, for his heart was full within him. You saw in 
him a man ruined and beggared by a long course of 
folly, which had terminated only a few minutes ago, 
and as he went, as you perhaps thought, gaily, down 
the street, he was reaping the very bitterness of self- 
reproach, the harvest of what he himself had sown, 
while making up his mind to leave his country and 
his home, and what was more than either, the 
renouncement of his love. 

Poor fellow, don’t be too hard upon him ; if he 
has sinned, is his punishment not sufficiently severe ? 


TWO FRIENDS. 


27 


CHAPTER II. 


TWO FRIENDS. 


Across the trackless seas I go, 

No matter when or where, 

And few my future lot will know, 
And fewer still will care. 

My hopes are gone, my time is spent, 
I little heed their loss. 

And if I cannot feel content, 

I cannot feel remorse.” — G ordon. 



HE same morning, true to his word, Arthur 


M Dacre appeared at his friend’s rooms looking 
as fresh and as bright as though a few hours ago he 
had not left them after a night of feverish excitement. 
And as one looked upon that pretty little room, with 
its innumerable ornaments and knicknacks, each in its 
own place, tidy and well arranged — they too bore no 
trace of last night’s work — and you would have 
scarcely credited that only so recently they had been 
silent witnesses of such recklessness and folly. 

Joe Darvell, himself, was sitting there, looking as 
cheerful as a sand-boy. 

“ Halloa, Arthur, old chap,” he cried, as his friend 


28 


TWO FRIENDS. 


entered the room, “ yon are punctual my boy. Never 
really expected you — awfully glad you’ve turned up 
though. Have a weed ?” 

“ Thanks,” said Arthur, taking the proffered cigar, 
and thoughtfully biting off the end, “ I had to be 
punctual, I had so much to do.” 

“ Eeally,” and Joe opened his eyes, “ fancy Arthur 
Dacre with so much to do.” 

“ Yes, ” continued that individual, calmly striking 
a match, and speaking in the intervals allowed him by 
his attention which was concentrated upon the light- 
ing of his cigar, “ you see I am going to the other 
end of the world in a day or two, and when a chap 
does that kind of thing, — well,” and here he puffed 
vigorously at his weed to make it draw, “ you know a 
chap has lots to do.” 

“ I should think a chap had,” answered Darvell, 
looking at his friend in astonishment, “ but why are 
you that chap ?” 

“ Oh, well, you see,” replied Arthur, “ I’ve been 
going it a bit too strong, and I am cleaned out.” 

“ Not so bad as that, I hope.” 

“ Fact,” was the reply, “ last night finished me, 
did me off roundly, neatly and well. By-the-by, Joe, 


TWO FRIENDS. 


29 


who is that Comte who collared so much of the spoil ? 
Known him long ?” 

“ Yes — no — not very,” answered the other, “ met 
him in Paris, great swell over there, did me well, put 
me up for a couple of clubs, and seemed to know 
every one ; but why do you ask ?” 

“Oh, curiosity only, he has such luck, that’s all. 
I envy him, and I always like to know something 
about a chap who makes me do that.” 

“ What, you don’ t mean to imply anything be- 
yond your words, Arthur, surely? You don’t mean to 
insinuate that he isn’t square. If you do, my boy, 
you must be mad. I assure you the Comte was 
introduced to me by one of the best known men in 
Paris, in London too, for that matter, and I’d as soon 
suspect myself of cheating as a fellow whom I have 
always found so square and above board as that. 
Besides, you know the money was lost in my rooms, 
and the Comte is my friend after all, so really I 
think you are treading on rather dangerous ground.” 

“Great Scott, Joe, how you do jump to conclu- 
sions. I never thought of breathing a word against 
your aristocratic friend. I only asked about him. 
You are a rummun to fly in a state like that for noth- 


TWO FRIENDS. 


ing. Such a thing as you mention T wouldn’t breathe 
against the veriest thief unhung, unless I had proofs, 
good substantial proofs ; and besides that, I should be 
a brute to say anything which might make you 
uncomfortable, when, as you say, we played in your 
rooms, and the party given at my own express desire. 
No, old chap, tu te trompes, I didn’t come here to talk 
about anything to do with money, or that sort of 
thing. What I have to say is more serious still, -and 
it’s rather a delicate matter too,” he added, hesitat- 
ingly. 

During this speech, if any one had been watching 
Joe closely, they might have observed a slight look of 
relief upon his face, small wonder perhaps, for no one 
would wish to be mixed up in a card row. 

“Well, what is it, if it isn’t money. That’s the 
only serious thing I can think of,” he replied. 

“ Joe,” said Arthur, “ don’t misunderstand me, in 
what I am going to say. As you know, I love Edith 
Munroe. If things had gone well with me, I should 
have asked her to marry me. Ah well,” passing his 
hand over his brow, “ that’s all over now. Joe, you 
love her too, is it not so 2” 

Without removing his cigar, Joe nodded. 


TWO FRIENDS. 


31 


“You also mean to ask her to marry you?” 
Another nod. 

Then, old fellow, go in and win. I wish you 
luck, I don’t know which of us she would have chosen 
had things gone well with me, but as I now have no 
chance, I wanted to tell you that I wished you luck, for 
I know she would be happy with you. Good-bye, 
Joe, I’m off now.” 

“ Wait a bit, old fellow,” said his friend, slowly, 
without looking up from the ground, at which he had 
been thoughtfully gazing during this unexpected com 
versation. “ Where are you going to ?” 

“ To Australia.” 

“ To Australia — what for ?” 

“To work.” 

“Work. What at?” said Darvell looking up in 
astonishment. 

“Oh, anything that comes to hand,” laughed 
Arthur, lightly, “I’m clean broke, and intend to 
make a fresh start.” 

“Well,” continued Joe, once more thoughtfully 
regarding the carpet, “sit down again. I should like 
to talk a little longer — will you?” 


32 


TWO FRIENDS. 


“No, thanks, I’m in a hurry — should like to stay, 
but I have too much to do.” 

“ Well, if you can’t spare the time, of course don’t 
stay,” replied Darvell, in a hard defiant kind of voice, 
which made his friend look at him in surprise. 

“What is it, old chap ?” he said, “ you’re not cross 
because I won’t stop, surely.” 

“No, it’s all right, I’m not cross. I only wanted 
to hear a little more of your plans, and it upsets me 
rather to think that I am partly the cause of your 
going away, and that possibly I may benefit by that 
departure.” 

“Don’t think of that, old man,” said Arthur, 
kindly putting his hand upon the other’s shoulder, 
which action caused Joe to shrink slightly, “you 
mustn’t bother about me. We all have enough to do 
to bother about ourselves.” 

“ My word we have,” broke forth Darvell in a pas- 
sionate voice, and then — “ well, good-bye, bon voyage 
and much luck if 1 do not see you again.” 

As he let Arthur out of the door, he stood for a 
moment to watch him pass down the street, then 
drawing his hand across his eyes, with an expression 
of unutterable weariness, he said to himself “well, 


TWO FRIENDS. 


33 


it is better so, but his blood be upon his own head. 
‘ There is a tide in the affairs of men,’ as Arthur him- 
self once said last night, and had he known it, his tide 
was now. Had he accepted my invitation to stay, and 
taken advantage of that moment of strange weakness, 
I believe I might have helped him. What a fool some 
sudden emotion may make a man become ; just sup- 
posing I had done, what I most certainly should have 
done, had Arthur stayed, by now I should be feeling 
foolish, while he would be as happy as he had ever 
been before. Now he is miserable, and I am — well, 
no — not exactly happy, but let’s rather call it still 
fortunate.” 

Meanwhile, the unsuspecting subject of this rev- 
erie continued on his way, to make the varions prep- 
arations involved in such a sudden determination to 

journey to the other end of the world. 

2 * 


34 


GOOD-BYE. 


CHAPTER III. 

GOOD-BYE. 


“ Sister, farewell! farewell once more 
To every youthful tie, 

Friends! parents! kinsmen, native shore! 

To each and all good-bye! 

And thoughts which for the moment seem 
To bind me with a spell ! 
Ambitious hope! loves’ boyish dream ! 

To you a last farewell.” — G ordon. 


I T was two days later, that Arthur Dacre tasted the 
real bitterness of parting, and knew to the full, 
what the word “ good-bye ” can mean. There is no 
other word in the English language which contains as 
much as this. How many hearts have not been wrung 
at the sound — how many memories soften and sadden 
as they look back upon whole years of past, to where 
that word stands out clear and distinct, a very rock of 
grief set in the seas of time. It was there they ship- 
wrecked, there that their buoyant little craft called 
Hope, settled and went beneath the surface, out of 
sight, away below those cruel waters which closed 
over it forever. 


GOOD-BYE. 


35 


Ah, me, good-bye is ever hard, take it as we will ; 
whether with savage bitterness we determine to drain 
our cup to the very dregs, and go through with our 
farewell in every detail, in all its grief, sparing neither 
ourselves nor those we love. Or whether, a smile 
upon our lips the ring of joy in our voice, we call out 
cheerily “ farewell,” so that we may deceive the eyes 
we fain would spare the misery of detecting what we 
feel,— as though those eyes, loving eyes which know 
us so well, could e’er believe that aught but grief is in 
our hearts, — a load of sorrow that weighs us down, 
despite that smile, and the false quavering tones of 
affected spirits which we call at will to hide our hurt. 
Or — should we shirk the time of parting, and like 
a coward fly from a word we dare not say, and 
leave without that last farewell. Even then we do not 
escape ; the parting is there, the separation true, and 
though your voice may be spared the word, though 
your strength escape from trial, does not your heart 
exclaim “ good-bye — farewell ?” 

A gay crowd was thronging the lawn at Sandown. 
The world of fashion had gathered at that charming 
spot ; the hum of voices was in the air, mixing with 
the blatant roar which from time to time arose from the 


GOOD-BYE. 


ring, lending to the scene just that touch of excitement 
which even to the least sporting among the crowd that 
noise is able to convey ; while to those who love “ the 
sport of kings ” and to whom the race-course is a place 
of never-failing interest and delight, that “ two to one 
bar one” — “ five to four the field,” rising and falling 
in every variety of voice, is as music to their ears. 

“ Why, aren’t you over there ?” asked Edith Munroe 
of her companion, inclining her head in the direction 
of the ring, whence came the noises above described 
“ I ought to feel very complimented, I remember you 
once telling me that women were a mistake on a race- 
course, and you for one, would never encourage their 
presence by throwing them a word, for you were 
always much too busy to attend to anything except 
business, by which you meant, I suppose, your own 
exclusive pleasure.” 

“ Did I ?” replied Arthur Dacre, with a smile, 
“ how awfully rude of me. I can’t believe I put it 
as badly as that, Miss Munroe, but it certainly some- 
what conveys my meaning. I do think women are 
sometimes a little in the way at a race-meeting, a 
real race-meeting, but down here, one expects a sort 
of a garden-party, and without ladies, it would be 
pretty dull.” 


GOODBYE. 


37 


“Well, perhaps I agree with yon,” she said 
“we women too are hard to please. W r e want tc 
get a man to act as escort, and attend exclusively 
to our wants; nor dare to venture to prefer the 
ring or the paddock to our own sweet society 
and yet, when he does, we as often as not, turn 
round and look upon the poor individual as 
rather a muff, after all, a person who goes to 
races, only to dangle after a lot of women, and 
who probably doesn’t know a horse from a cow 
and most certainly hadn’t the wickedness to make 
a bet in his life — at least, that is the way with 
me, and I know other girls who think so too. 
Its a queer world, isn’t it Mr. Dacre ? ” 

“ Rather,” ejaculated Arthur, looking at his com- 
panion with considerable amusement, “ don’t you like 
a good young man then ?” 

“ Oh, of course I do, but not when he is incapable 
of being anything else. I would not have any man 
other than immaculate, and yet, if you can understand 
me, I should like to feel that he could be — well — be a 
little vicious if he wanted. No woman likes a man 
who is monotonously perfect. Look at Sir Charles 
Lintel there, he is my idea of a really good young 


38 


GOOD-BYE. 


man, never gave his mother an uneasy moment since 
he was born.” 

“ Except when he had the measles,” commented 
Arthur. 

“ Yes, that’s just what I mean ; but I doubt if his 
mother really likes him any the better for it. I am 
sure she would prefer to see him sit up, too late one 
night, or have a headache one morning, just for the 
sake of variety.” 

“ Well,” laughed Arthur, “ you certainly have a 
tolerably rum idea of vice, I don’t think your picture 
of it is very alluring. I have a horror of a headache 
in the morning.” 

“ Ah, now, I’m glad of that, for it serves you right 
whenever you get it. I am sure you are awfully dissi- 
pated, Mr. Dacre, aren’t you now ? I wish you would 
be a little more monotonously good.” 

“ Do you really ?” he asked, while leaning forward 
and drawing imaginary lines on the grass with the end 
of his stick, e< well, you see, I am making a beginning 
by preferring your society to ( over there ’ as you 
called it, which shows that, if I am not good, I can at 
any rate discover what is good.” 


GOOD-BYE. 


39 


“ Yes, it’s a beginning,” said Miss Munroe, compla- 
cently, and I think I am good to let you sit here, and 
bore me, while you take credit to yourself as though 
you were doing a meritorious action. But that brings 
me back to my first question. Why aren’t you 6 over 
there?’ Listen, they are calling you,” she laughed, as 
a more than a usually strident. “ I’ll lay the field ; 
6 — 1 bar one,” reached their ears, drowning all 
other sounds in its course, and it had some dis- 
tance to travel, for Miss Muuroe and her companion 
were sitting far away in a distant corner, behind the 
royal pavilion, as though it were indeed a garden- 
party, and for them the races were not. 

“ Oh, yes they may call,” said Arthur, “ they’ll 
never see me again. Shall I tell you why I am here, 
Miss Munroe, and why I grudge every moment I 
cannot spend in your society ?” 

“ Yes, certainly,” she replied, looking slightly 
startled, “ is there a real reason then ?” 

“ Yes, a very real reason,” said Arthur, slowly, as 
he turned for one moment and let his eyes rest on hers, 
which action brought the blood rushing to her face, 
then looking again upon the grass at his feet, he con- 


40 


GOOD-BYE. 


tinued : “ I am making up my mind, Miss Munroe, 
to say good-bye.” 

“ Good- bye ?” she repeated. 

“ Yes, good-bye. 1 am going away. I have not 
been monotonously good, I have been monotonously 
bad ; I have caused those who love me many uneasy 
moments, the end has come, and now I must go. Do 
you mind ?” and once again he raised his eyes to see 
what effect his news had upon the girl by his side. 

“ You know I do,” she said, with a little quaver, 
“ must you go ?” 

“ Yes. Oh, Edith,” he broke out, “that is the 
only part I really feel, otherwise I do not mind leav- 
ing all this,” and he waved his stick at the moving 
crowd, “ to start life anew. But to leave you — is almost 
more than I can bear. Had things been otherwise, I 
should have told you all my hopes, all I dared to 
think, but now — what good ? What is the use ?” 

“Yes, what is the use?” she answered, dreamily, 
and to herself her voice sounded far, far away. Men 
may suffer, men may have bad times, but they at 
least have the consolation of words. They can speak, 
they can rave of love and feelings, then depart to 
work, or seek oblivion in a future of novelty and 


GOOD-BYE. 


41 


excitement ; blit a woman, poor wretch, can but 
suffer, and that suffering must be borne in silence. 
Can she speak of love till the proper moment should 
arrive? Can she fly from sorrow and surroundings 
which remind her of a time of grief? No, never. 
She perforce must stay, she cannot relieve her soul 
with words^ or ease her grief by change of scene. 

And thus Edith Munroe could only hear her doom, 
for was it not her doom ? She loved this man, and 
he told her he must go. What could she say ? Noth- 
ing. — Yes, one word could she speak — she could say 
‘ good-bye . 5 

“Edith , 55 the young man went on, “Edith, I will 
not speak now of myself . 55 

“ Poor fellow, 5 ’ she breathed gently, lightly touch- 
ing his arm with her gloved hand. 

“ Don’t pity me , 55 he cried, fiercely, “ I cannot bear 
it, Edith, I shall break down if you do. Abuse me, 
shun me, scold me, but for heaven’s sake no kind 
words, or I shall not be a man . 55 

“Yes, you will,” she said in proud tones, “ Mr. 
Daere, there is a time for everything. I will not 
make things harder for you. When misfortune comes 
upon you, rise and meet it half way, never stop to 


42 


GOOD-BYE. 


bemoan what might have been. What is, is, and that 
alone, belongs to men. What might have been, is the 
cry of fools and weak helpless natures. Mr. Dacre, 
are we weak, do you think ?” 

“ You’re not; I am, I fear,” he said. 

“ No, you are not; come cheer up, things may 
come right in the end, they often do,” she concluded, 
rather lamely. 

“ How can they ?” he exclaimed, “ when the one 
thing on which one has set one’s heart becomes impos- 
sible ; when after months of hope, months of love, 
one can only say good-bye.” 

“ Why, good-bye, Mr. Dacre ; why not cm re- 
voir f” 

“Oh, Edith,” he said, “I dare not say it. You 
asked me if I were weak. If I took any half meas- 
ures now, I should indeed be what you ask. Ho, 
there is no return for me. I must say good-bye and 
go. But dearest, may I tell it you ? I should not I 
know, but I cannot help it. I have loved you, loved 
you with a true, firm devotion, which I had hoped, 
might some day persuade you to look upon me, and 
return that love. May I ask you— would you— could 
you have ever done so ?” 


GOOD-BYE. 


43 


And as lie spoke, he glanced at her troubled 
eyes, which were fixed upon the distant crowd, in a 
vacant look, as though that moving panorama were not 
the object of their sight, but something far beyond 
were what those eyes would seek. Then she turned, 
and for one moment only looked at him. 

“ Arthur ” she said, in faltering tones, “ what is 
the use ?” 

“Oh, tell me, dear,” he urged. 

“ Well, then,” she said, “ if it can help you in your 
trouble, I could have loved you.” 

Then, after a pause, during which, the young 
man by her side tasted all the feelings of triumph and 
disappointment ; he had won her love, but only to re- 
nounce it in the same moment. “Mr. Dacre,” she 
said, in her every-day matter-of-fact voice, “ I want 
to go into the paddock, will you take me there ?” and 
so saying, she rose. 

To the paddock they went, speaking to acquaint- 
ances, and chatting with friends, and when, at the end 
of the last race, they parted, it was in their most 
ordinary manner, and no one could have guessed what 
that commonplace good-bye might hide. 


44 


CURRENDORE. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CURRENDORE. 


“ ’Twas merry in the glowing morn among the gleaming grass, 
To wander as we’ve wandered many a mile, 

And blow the cool tobacco cloud, and watch the white wreaths 
pass, 

Sitting loosely in the saddle all the while. 

’Twas merry ’mid the backwoods when we spied the station 
roofs 

To wheel the wild scrub cattle at the yard, 

With a running fire of stockwhips and a fiery run of hoofs, 

Oh ! the hardest day was never then too hard 1 ” — Gordon. 

T was dinner-time at Currendore. The pretty little 



I wife of Jim Atkins was bustling about between 
the kitchen and the dining room, regardless of heat, 
her mind only set upon the arranging of that mid-day 
meal, which she herself had cooked. It is only in 
places like Currendore, that a bachelor realizes the full 
value of a wife. When pain and anguish wring the 
brow, all know wliat a ministering angel a wife may 
** become, but hunger can also wring, after a long morn- 
ing’s ride round the paddocks, and then it is that the 
bachelor who goes home to find his ministering angel 
in the shape of a yellow-faced Chinaman cook, can 
appreciate the good fortune of his friend who returns 


CURRENDORE. 


45 


to be welcomed by a pretty little wife, who has her- 
self, with skillful hands, prepared those dishes his 
palate loves. 

While Mrs. Atkins, with conscientious care, was 
making all things ready for her lord and master, who, 
by the way, was a very particular gentleman, and 
accustomed to receive all the little attentions of his 
wife as his just due, the men were taking their horses 
to the shed, where they might remain hitched to 
the pillar, till wanted. They were three. Jim 
Atkins, the host, Thomas McBride, a “ jackeroo,” or 
“colonial experience” youth, now quartered for that 
purpose on the family, and our old friend Arthur 
Dacre. 

That morning the latter, who was manager of the 
back station had ridden over to report that a shepherd 
in one of the outlying huts was ill. On a station “ the 
boss” is supposed to know everything, from sheep- 
shearing to vaccination, and Jim Atkins had set out to 
administer medical relief to the man in question. 
Thomas McBride, anxious to learn all that he could, 
even though it were but to doctor an ailing shepherd, 
accompanied him, and it was from this expedition the 
three men had just returned, feeling, doubtless, they 


46 


CURRENDORE. 


liad done a good morning’s work, and perhaps they 
had; they had remarked upon the mares and their 
foals whom they had passed en route; they had can- 
tered to the side of the lake to see if the ducks were 
still there in force ; they had dismounted to adjust a 
gate which had somehow got unhinged ; they had 
startled an emu, and also prevailed upon the shepherd 
to swallow a couple of thundering big pills ; there was 
nothing much in them beyond their size, but this was 
their great point. “ The boss ” said they would work 
wonders ; faith can do much. And so the shepherd 
gulped down these harmless remedies, and prepared 
himself to recover. 

It is some twelve months since Arthur Dacre came 
to this country. He fell in with Jim Atkins at the 
Australian Club, Sydney, and seeing that he was a man 
in a thousand, a bright, outspoken, sterling good fel- 
low, straightway cottoned to him. At first, Atkins, 
accustomed to view every young man newly arrived 
from the old country as a masher and a poop, did not 
seem to take very kindly to the Englishman, who, he 
said, w T as far too well dressed to be much good. But 
when he watched Arthur Dacre make a fifty break at 
billiards one evening, he began to think that perhaps 


CURRENDORE. 


47 


he was not a duffer after all, and when he saw him 
coolly essay to mount a bucking horse because some 
one had dared him to do so, and when, as a matter of 
course he was dislodged from his back, and immedi- 
ately remounted for another try, then Jim Atkins gave 
it as his opinion that that chap Dacre was a good 
pluck’d ’un, and people should never judge by appear- 
ances, which, excepting himself perhaps, no one had 
been inclined to do. 

Having once taken him into his favor, Jim was not 
a person to do things by halves. When he liked a per- 
son, he liked him, he was wont to say. The moment 
he found he liked Arthur Dacre, despite the beauty of 
his clothes, he asked him to come and stay at Curren- 
dore, “ it would give him (Jim) such pleasure if he 
would, and the missus would make him as comfortable 
as a man could wish.” 

Nothing loth, Arthur accepted the invitation, and 
a very jolly month he spent beneath that hospitable 
roof, during which month, he and Jim became firm 
friends, and as for the “ missus” well, she was all, and 
more than all her husband had promised, while in the 
matter of making her guests comfortable, she had prob- 
ably no rival in any hostess in the world, and when, of 


48 


CURRENDORE. 


an evening the men returned, weary from their daily 
work or pleasure, having ministered to their bodily 
comforts by means of food and drink, she would then 
proceed to seat herself at the piano, and entertain 
their minds with music, and the sweetest little songs 
which she sang to her own accompaniment. 

During this month, as was to be expected, Arthur 
confided his story to Atkins, and informed him that 
though he was now enjoying himself as much as he 
had ever done in his life, yet it was not for pleasure 
that he had come out to this country. He had come 
out to work, and must therefore be thinking of going 
away to seek some. 

“ Why go away V’ answered Jim, “ why not work 
here ?” There is no shame in earning your bread. I 
can take you on here on this station as well as any one 
could do elsewhere. I will give you work to do, and 
you may be sure, whenever your duties bring you 
round to this side of the run there will always be a 
hearty welcome for you at the house.” 

This was twelve months ago. Arthur had been a 
stock-rider, and so well had he proved his efficiency, 
that he was now manager of the back station, which 


CURRENDORE. 


49 


was the further side of the estate, some five and thirty 
miles away. 

Early this morning he had ridden over as has been 
seen, and here were they all three, after the hard 
morning’s work, which I have described, ready to par- 
take of the good things provided by Mrs. Atkins’ 
skill. That pretty little lady, her face slightly flashed 
by her culinary exertions, now called them in, and 
together they entered that cool, neat little dining 
room. Once seated, the serving maid brought in the 
dishes, but the hostess’ watchful eye was still superin- 
tending from her place at the head of the table, and 
ever and anon she would even rise to assist the girl in 
her labors, to repair some oversight, or add some little 
dainty to the plate of her guests, which her kind 
thoughtfulness had shown her was wanting. 

“ How I pity those poor people who have to be 
waited upon by servants who just give you what they 
think fit,” said Arthur, when Mrs. Atkins had 
returned from the sideboard, with the salad which she 
had noticed was lacking upon that gentleman’s plate. 
“This is what I call real comfort, Mrs. Atkins,” as 
that lady resumed her seat, “ how miserable I should 


50 


CURRENDORE. 


be if I bad to eat in stiff company, surrounded by 
supercilious footmen.” 

« Ah, it’s all very well to say that,” laughed the 
little lady, “ you’re accustomed to our ways now, but 
I’m certain you thought us most uncivilized, when 
you first came here to stay.” 

“Yes,” answered Jim, “do you remember his hor- 
ror when I told him he needn’t wear dress clothes of an 
evening. I assure you lie looked at me as if he won- 
dered what sort of a place he had got to.” 

“ Oh, how he exaggerates,” said Arthur, “ Mrs. 
Atkins, I believe your husband made up his mind, 
that I was a kind of imbecile swell, when he saw me 
first, and he never would get the idea out of his 
head.” 

“Yes, Jim takes great prejudices,” replied his 
wife, “ he looks at a person, and immediately makes 
up his mind whether he likes or dislikes him. I call 
it downright conceit to think you can see through 
everyone at a glance.” 

“ Conceit, do you call it, little woman ?” said Jim, 
passing his cup for some more tea, “ not a bit of it, 
I’m very seldom wrong. I look at a person’s eyes and 
know what he’s like at once. I didn’t make much 


CURRENDORE. 


61 


mistake when I looked at you, and loved you the 
moment we met, did I ?” and Jim gave a little chuckle 
at his own compliment. “But with this chap here, I 
will confess that I broke through my usual rule, and 
instead of looking at his eyes, I looked at his clothes, 
and they almost choked me off.” 

“ Why, was I such a guy ?” said Arthur. 

“On the contrary, my boy, you were such a 
masher, dear me, liow-de-do, two-flngers-of-your-left- 
hand sort of look, don’t-yer-know kind of chappie, but 
I was wrong. That was all affectation. You’re not 
such a bad fellow now we know you.” 

“ Thanks,” laughed Arthur, “ I’ m glad I’ve 
improved. I suppose it’s this rig which worked the 
change,” glancing at his flannel shirt and white mole- 
skin trousers, but I’m glad every one isn’t as quick to 
judge as you are, if they were, very few “chappies ” 
as you call them, would stand a chance.” 

The meal over, the men lit their pipes, and the 
busy little hostess set about removing the dishes, and 
helping “ the girl ” to wash up. 

The three men walked towards a log fence some 
little distance from the house, and sat thereon 
beneath the shelter of a neighboring tree. For awhile 


52 


CURRENDORE. 


they smoked in silence, which young McBride was the 
first to break. 

“ What a lugubrious country,” he said, “ I believe 
if I lived all alone here I should go mad.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first, my boy,” 
replied Jim, “ many’s the shepherd who has gone out 
of his mind when too long alone in the bush.” 

“ Yes, I can quite believe it,” added Arthur, 
“sometimes, when I have been riding alone through 
the paddocks the solitude has seemed to oppress me. 
When first I came here, those endless gum-trees, all 
white and dead, stretching for miles and miles like 
gaunt skeletons against the sky, have almost made me 
feel in another world, and that those giant forms were 
spectres whose rightful home it was.” 

“It isn’t the trees which strike me so forci- 
bly,” said McBride, “ I can get used to those, be- 
cause I know they are only trees. But those great 
carrion crows, with that fearful, ominous note to 
which they, from time to time, give vent. They cur- 
dle my blood. I think that sound, the most weird 
and the most uncanny thing I ever heard. It is as 
though they were evil spirits told off to haunt one 


CURRENDORE. 


53 


through life and always there waiting to gloat over 
your decease.” 

“Well, you’re not far wrong,” laughed Jim, 
“ they do gloat over a decease. When you see a cloud 
of these birds gathered together, there is of course 
some carcase upon which they are feeding. They 
track the wounded or weak among the beasts and 
quietly wait upon him, till he can no longer defend 
himself, and then they go for him and finish him.” 

“ I can think of no more awful end,” said Arthur, 
“ than to fall disabled upon the plains, and be obliged 
to lie there, slowly starving to death, with these car- 
rion birds sitting on every side, their plaintive, ill- 
omened cry ringing in your ears, knowing all the 
while, that there they sit, and there they wait, until 
the time shall come, when you are no longer able to 
keep them off.” 

“ Yes, not exactly pleasant, I daresay,” commented 
Jim, “ and yet, life in the bush with all its drawbacks 
of drought and crows, is not such a bad existence after 
all. There is a freedom about it which to me is 
delightful, a space and a feeling of vastness, which 
seem the perfection of existence. Fancy being 


54 


CURRENDORE. 


cooped up in a town after this,” lie went on, spread- 
ing out his arms towards the space of which he spoke. 

“ Hulloa, who’s this ?” he broke forth, as three men 
appeared climbing over the fence a little lower down. 

“ Got a job ?” said one of the three swagsmen, for 
such they were, addressing Jim as soon as they were 
within earshot. 

“No, got more hands than I know what to do with 
already,” he replied, “shaVt want more till the shear 
ing begins.” 

“ But we should be glad of a job, sir,” put in one 
of the others. 

“ The devil you would, I dare say, but 1 tell you I 
haven’t got one for you,” answered Jim, sharply. “ Go 
down to the hut yonder, you’ll get food and drink, 
and a night’s lodging if you want it, but that’s all I 
can promise you.” 

“ Thank you, boss,” added the first speaker, “ guess 
we’ll do without your food and lodging, good day.” 

And so saying the three men continued on their 
way. 

“I don’t like the look of those fellows,” said Jim, 
when they were out of hearing, “ they come of a bad 
class of swagsmen. I feel sure too, I know that first 


CURRENDORE 


55 


fellow’s face. He’s a chap I saw pretty handy in a 
row up at Jura last summer; just the kind of black- 
guard I should say, who wouldn’t think twice about 
dropping a match to set the whole place alight out of 
pure devilry, and to be revenged because I couldn’t 
make work for him and take him and his loafing 
mates on. They’ve gone your way, I see, Arthur. 
Just keep an eye on them as you ride by ; have a talk 
to them if possible, and find out something about them 
— where they come from and where they’re going.” 

<c Aye, aye,” he replied, “ and I think too, I had 
better be going now. I’ll just walk up to the stable 
and get the nag.” 

Some minutes later he had taken leave of his host 
and hostess, and started on his way to the back station. 
This was his last glimpse of civilization for some time, 
and it rather saddened him to bid farewell to his kind 
friends before returning to the intense loneliness of 
his solitary life, for it was not often that he came over 
to the head station ; he had too much to do, on his 
side of the run to admit of such visits, while Jim 
Atkins, too, could not often get away, unless business 
required his presence, for there was much going on 
which required the master’s eye. 


56 


A FIGHT. 


CHAPTER V. 


A FIGHT. 


“For good undone and gifts misspent and resolutions vain, 
’Tis somewhat late to trouble, this I know, 

I should live the same life over, if I had to live again, 

And the chances are I go where most men go.” — Gordon. 


RTHUR DACRE rode along across the dusty 



l\ grass, or rather dusty ground where the grass 
should have been, and as he went, he didn’t whistle 
for want of thought, for of that he had plenty. He 
had had many opportunities for such cogitation, and 
taking it all round, had pretty well thought out his 
present situation. The past with all its follies, seemed 
long, very long, ago. 

Racing, gambling, dancing, flirting, all seemed like 
a dream to him during those days in which he rode 
for hours amongst the ghostly forms of dead gum- 
trees. When he had plenty of work he was happy 
and content, but when, some long ride before him, re- 
quiring no haste and nothing to be done on arriving, 
at his journey’s end, — then would come regret, and a 


A FIGHT. 


57 


futile hankering after the life which he had left. 
And thoughts of Edith — what was she doing? What 
was she thinking ? Did she ever think of him ? 

He had had letters from home, of course, and at 
first he had just waited and longed for these. But 
now, though his heart was as much on the other side 
of the world as ever, yet he had lost that vivid inter- 
est in its little daily doings, and the news in which he 
had been accustomed to revel, but rarely succeeded in 
arresting his attention. 

Personally, I have met men, who, from being 
madly homesick, unable to think of or care for any 
events other than those which are transacted in their 
own homes, pass to the condition of scarcely ever 
writing a letter, and looking with little short of dis- 
taste upon any English newspaper which may find its 
way into their hands. Yet we fret and fume, and 
fuss and worry about our feelings, forsooth, when it is 
only a question of time before those feelings change. 

But though Arthur felt that he had dropped out of 
the world, as it were, he did not altogether relinquish 
his hold upon the old country. His ways now were 
not their ways over there. Between his life and that 
of his old friends, there could be little sympathy, but 
3 * 


53 


A FIGHT. 


yet, while correspondence was thus rendered, almost 
an impossibility, it is not to be supposed that the indi- 
vidual welfare of those he loved could ever be less an 
object dear to his heart. 

He had heard rumors which coupled Miss Mun roe’s 
name with that of his old friend, Joe Darvell. Well, 
it is what he had expected, and even at one time 
almost hoped. He had himself bade Joe go in and 
win ; he was a good fellow, and would make her happy. 
He could not marry her himself, and would, therfore, 
not be a dog in the manger, and grudge her to another, 
especially that other, a friend and ally. 

As his horse went cantering along, across the dusty 
track, Arthur’s thoughts were running much in the 
same old groove, but when an opening appeared in 
the trees, and in the distance could be seen a group of 
men at work, he suddenly sat upright in his saddle, 
shook himself as though to recall the present moment, 
then rode forward to watch the work which was going 
on, and do anything which might be required of him. 
The men were engaged in enlarging one of the tanks ; 
they had been working hard at this job for some 
weeks, so that if the rain should come on, it might find 
them ready, and the tank prepared for its reception. 


A FIGHT. 


59 


Arthur rode about and talked to the men in charge 
for the best part of half an hour, and was just going 
to continue on his way, when he espied the three 
swagsmen who had visited the station that morning. 
They were lying on the grass, smoking. 

Mindful of Jim’s last words, our hero rode towards 
them to have a talk, and discover, if possible, whither 
they were going, and as he did so, one of them, the 
one who had spoken in such an aggressive way up at 
the house, deliberately lit a match, put it to his pipe, 
and then chucked it, still burning, on to the grass. 
Now, anyone who knows anything of Australia, is 
aware how very little it takes to ignite a bush Are, and 
what fearful destruction to animal life and property, 
a bush fire may cause, when it assumes the shape of a 
conflagration of any magnitude. 

“ Put out that match,” shouted Arthur, “ have a 
care, man, you’ll have the place on fire.” 

“ All right, boss, that won’t light up,” said the 
fellow, without moving. 

“ You know it will,” retorted Arthur, “ put it out, 
I say. By Jove,” he continued, as the grass around 
began to catch fire. Then springing off his horse, he 
rushed to the spot, and stamped out the flame. 


A FIGHT. 


This done, he turned to the swagsman, who was 
still calmly sitting still. 

u Now you clear,” he said, “ or I’ll run you in 
before the nearest magistrate for attempting to set fire 
to the place.” 

“No you won’t boss,” replied the man, “I dene 
nothing and you knows it, and as to going, I just 
intend to finish this here pipe before I stir.” 

“If you don’t go, you’ll be made to,” replied 
Arthur, sternly. 

“All right, boss, p’r’aps you’ll make me,” 
retorted the man with a sneer. 

Now this was a direct challenge and Arthur felt it 
so ; the men had all stopped work to listen, for in 
Australia, a man has often to fight, in order to show 
that he is at the head of affairs, and if he cannot prove 
himself the better man, or at any rate a good man, his 
authority is shaken, perhaps forever. 

Arthur knew this, and before ail these station 
hands he could not let this fellow bounce him ; he 
must fight, there was no alternative. Not that he was 
particularly averse to fighting, on the contrary he was 
rather handy with his fists, but it was the issue wdiich 
he feared. If he couldn’t best that big burly brute, 


A FIGHT. 


61 


then he knew that he would practically lose the respect 
of all these men forever. His mind made up, he was 
not slow to act. 

“ Come,” he said, his face set with an ugly look of 
determination, “ you and your mates 6 get ’ now and 
at once, or I’ll jolly well thrash you into a jelly.” 

The swagsmen laughed, and the former speaker 
rising slowly to his feet said. a Come on, boss, let’s 
see some of your thrashing,” and then as Arthur came 
towards him to accept the challenge, before he had 
time to defend himself, the brute let right out and 
aimed at him a terrible blow. 

But he had been prepared for this, and bobbing 
his head, the blow passed over his shoulder, the man 
nearly losing his balance as his arm met with no 
resistance. Quick as lightning Arthur got one in 
with his left, and catching the fellow full upon the 
side of the cheek, he reeled back. 

A shout arose from the crowd, a ring had been 
formed now. How Englishmen do love a fight ; and 
Australians are Englishmen. Blood was on the swag- 
man’s face, the result of Arthur’s first blow. At sight 
of blood, man’s worst passions are aroused, he clamors 
for more : he revels in the “ sport,” his animal nature 


A FIGHT. 


62 

comes to the surface, and he shouts, “ bravo ” while 
urging the fighters on. Man is really nothing but a 
highly educated animal. 

The sight of blood roused the little crowd to 
enthusiasm ; it raised the swagsman’s anger to fury ; 
he looked like a very devil in his rage. 

And on Arthur too, it had its effect ; his eyes glit- 
tered, his pulses throbbed, his whole soul went forth 
to the fray ; a power stronger than himself seemed to 
descend upon him, and imbue him with a desire to 
fight, a thirst for blood. 

But he kept his head, and as his opponent came 
upon him with a mad rush, striking as he came, man- 
aged so far to avoid the blow, that it alighted upon 
his shoulder. He staggered and would have fallen 
had he not reeled against a man who stood behind 
him, thus being saved the ignominy of lying prostrate 
upon the ground. 

“ Go it, mate,” shouted the two swagsmen to their 
champion. 

“ Stick to it, boss,” said the station hands, who 
were looking admiringly on. 

Arthur did not want much encouragement, how- 


A FIGHT. 


63 


ever, and he returned to the combat with renewed 
vigor. 

Now it was that the fight really began ; the swag- 
man hitting wildly and blindly, sometimes indeed 
almost getting one home, but the quick eye of his an- 
tagonist aided by his superior knowledge of boxing 
would break its force, even if he were unable alto- 
gether to ward it off. Then pulling himself together 
for one great effort, after dodging a tremendous blow, 
which, as usual, almost upset the giver, he got in a 
beautiful left-hander, right on the side of the fellow’s 
jaw, and dropped him like a log. 

A shout arose from the station hands, “ Bravo, 
Bravo.” 

But their shouting ceased, and the excitement 
grew, as the ruffian, picking himself up, seized a shovel 
which was lying near, and rushed upon Arthur, 
Nothing, it seemed, could save him ; the man was in- 
tent upon murder, no one could stop him before he 
had his blow, and a blow from that weapon meant 
death to the person to whom it should be dealt. 

Realizing his danger, our hero one moment dodged 
his infuriated antagonist, who was coming towards him 
brandishing the shovel, swinging it around his head, 


64 


A FIGHT. 


his eyes dilated, and foam upon his mouth. Then, as 
he prepared to aim a blow, a blow which would have 
felled an ox, Arthur dropped like a stone, and before 
the man knew what he could be about, or how or 
where he should strike him now, he had him by the 
ankles in a grip of iron, and one second more had torn 
his feet from the ground, sending him flying head over 
heels on to the grass. 

Then a howl arose from the onlookers, a howl of 
triumph, a howl of relief, that they had not, in their 
innocent thirst for blood been called upon to witness a 
diabolical crime. 

A rush was made for the prostrate swagsman, the 
shovel was taken from him, he was secured by a dozen 
strong, brawny arms, and likewise his two companions, 
who, seeing the turn affairs had taken, had commenced 
to run, but they were soon captured and brought back. 

Then someone shouted “ String them up. String 
them up.” And suiting the action to the word, a rope 
was produced, and the unfortunate trio were con- 
ducted to the nearest convenient tree. 

There is small doubt of the fate which would have 
overtaken them, and a pity perhaps it is that the law 
of the bush was not in this case allowed to take its 


A FIGHT. 


65 


course, for of wliat use were three such loafing mem- 
bers of humanity as these ? But Arthur, recovering 
from his exertions, and escaping from the hands of 
those who surrounded him, rushed to the rescue. 

“ Hold,” he cried, “ none of that. Let them go 
free ; no hanging here boys, the villains deserve it, 
but don’t let us pollute this run by turning any of our 
trees into a gallows. Tie their hands, let half-a-dozen 
of you take them as far as the end of the run, put 
them across the river on the Toomba side, and see 
them off the premises. I don’t think they will ven- 
ture to come back here again, if they do, hang them.” 

“ Yes, and when you are on the further side of the 
river,” shouted a voice, as half-a-dozen fellows pre- 
pared to carry out this programme, “ ye can just tie 
thim divils to a tray and give thim a taste of the 
stock-whip ; that’ll warm them, the darlins.” 

I don’t expect the volunteer goalers needed any 
such suggestion as this; there are many unwritten 
laws in the bush, which are not often overlooked. To 
him who would live there in peace, there is peace. 
But where one turbulent fellow can create discord by 
his presence, or by one bad act destroy hundreds of 
acres, killing cattle and sheep, ruining selectors and 


66 


A FIGHT. 


impoverishing squatters, summary justice is needed, 
and it had often been better for that man that lie had 
never been born. 

As Arthur mounted his horse, and prepared to 
continue on his way, the men cheered him, which 
salute he acknowledged by a touch of his hat, and then 
cantered along to liis destination, well pleased with 
the result of his fight. The excitement he felt had 
done him good, and roused him for a time out of him- 
self. Why, even now, his heart was throbbing, and 
his pulses beating quicker than they had done for 
many a long day before. What cared he for the 
bruises on his shoulder, or the dizziness in his head ? 
For the first time in months, he felt that he was liv- 
ing, not vegetating, and that he was still capable of 
some feeling of excitement after all. How in the old 
days he had longed for excitement, and what was 
more, searched for and found it ; but the craving for 
excitement is much as the opium eater’s taste for his 
favorite drug, the more one has, the more one wants. 
Excitement itself creates a want, and no sooner is that 
want allayed, than comes there a craving for more. 
There is no drowning the desire which we ourselves 


A FIGHT. 


67 


have called into existence. No, but the desire may 
drown us. 

And thus it was with Arthur. Like the opium 
which dulls the Drain, and reduces its victim to some- 
thing little superior, or indeed, inferior, to an animal, 
the thirst for excitement, gradually, but surely, 
destroys all the brightness of life, leaving all else flat, 
stale and unprofitable. A few more years of the life 
to which Arthur Dacre had been so wedded ; a few 
more years of that constant strain of unnatural excite- 
ment which it was necessary to repress, and hide from 
the eyes of men, and he would have deteriorated. 
His character must have suffered, his vigorous man- 
hood reduced to nervous age ; but “ whatever is, is 
right ” as Pope has it, and though it was not a pleas- 
ant fate to submit to, yet fate did interpose to stay the 
destruction which seemed inevitable. And in the 
very excitement which he had courted, in the carry- 
ing out of the very desire which he had created, 
Arthur foundered and went under. It was from 
choice that the Duke of Clarence met his fate in a 
butt of his favorite wine ; it was from necessity that 
his “ favorite sin ” was the ultimate means of saving 


68 


A FlGH'l. 


Arthur Dacre from himself, and averting the course 
of folly which he pursued. 

But the cure was a hard one, and it was long before 
our hero could get over the desire for something to 
excite him, something which could convey to him the 
feeling that he was alive, and possessed of passions 
and a nature which could appreciate what “ living ” 
meant. But time had partially healed all this, and it 
was only when anything unusual occurred to mar the 
very even tenor of his days, that he realized to any 
extent what he was and what he could be. ' 

It was not exactly the gambling he craved for, it 
was life, companions, rivalry, competition, perhaps 
ambition, — something to arouse him to exertion, and 
stimulate that dull apathy which seemed to oppress 
him in his solitude like a pall. Here he could hunt, 
here he could shoot — yes, but alone. 

If we only knew it, half the pleasure of what we 
do, consists in its being done before the eyes of others. 
Why do we take such pride in that which we do so 
well 2 Why do we shoot with jealous aim, why at- 
tempt to be in the first flight across the plough or 
grass, why do we look around us as we take that “ nasty 
double 2” 


A FIGHT. 


It is not difficult to reply that it is for vanity. All 
is vanity. Do vve not want it said we shot so well, we 
rode as straight as anyone in the field, or for the mat- 
ter of that, much better ? And why do we wish it so ? 
To feed our little vanity, of course. 

Therefore, assuming this, it is easy to understand 
that when shooting all alone, riding all alone, much of 
the “ sport ” is spoiled, which statement, though little 
flattering to the majority of mankind, will not, I am 
sure, be considered otherwise than true. A minority 
there is, of course, good fellows, good sportsmen, so 
keen that it matters to them little whether they take 
their pleasures alone or in a crowd. But even they, 
I imagine, would find the “ sport ” part of it, some- 
what pall after many successive months of Kobinson 
Crusoe life ; they would long for “ a meet ” where the 
sun would shine brightly upon “ fair women and brave 
men,” or even perhaps a good old English fight. Any - 
thing that would bring a sense of companionship, a 
sense of living among living people, with feelings and 
tastes such as they themselves may possess. 

Thus it was with Arthur ; he had had his fight, 
and he felt all the better for it. A smile played upon 
his face, yes, a self-satisfied smile, if you will, as he 


70 


A FIGHT. 

\ 


cantered Iris horse along towards his lonely habitation, 
a habitation which, when he did reach it, seemed 
doubly lonely because of its contrast to the bright lit- 
tle home he had just left, and a solitude more than 
ordinarily intense, owing to the tussle and excitement 
through which he had so recently passed. Ilis new- 
born feeling of happiness passed him like an April 
snn,and the owner of this dreary dwelling settled down 
to pass the tedious hours before he went to bed. 

Yes, not only these tedious hours, but, as he told 
himself, they would be here again to-morrow ; tedi- 
ous days, weeks, months, years. 

And it was not long before, with a sigh, our hero 
betook himself to his couch in about the bluest frame 
of mind one can, by any possibility conceive, saying 
to himself, as he did so, “ yes, that’s the worst of a 
temporary rise in a fellow’s spirits, the reaction is sure 
to be the d — 1. ” 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


71 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 

“ Puff with the last whiff of my pipe, 

I blow these fancies away ! 

For I must be jogging along, if I want 
To get down to town to-day. 

As I know I shall reach my journey’s end 
Though I travel not over fast, 

So the end of ray longer journey will come, 

In its own good time at last.” — G ordon. 

B UT the next morning saw Arthur all smiling 
again. I often wonder that we take the 
trouble to get “ down,” because when one first gets up 
in the morning, assuming that the getter-up is young 
and in the enjoyment of tolerable health, one gets up 
in very deed, the world always seems so bright and 
cheerful. Our ills seem to have either diminished or 
actually vanished during the night, and here we are 
wondering how on earth we had ever felt so blue. 
On these occasions we make up our minds never to 
get blue again, for it is a very silly thing to do, when 
we know that in all human probability we shall only 
laugh at ourselves in the morning. 


72 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


But in the majority of cases, I fear it is very little 
use to arrange anything in these exceedingly narrow 
places, or expect that any resolution can find sufficient 
breathing room therein to exist until the evening. To 
make up a mind is one thing, to keep it made up 
another. 

But in whatever mood the future hours would find 
our hero, he certainly felt perfectly fit and jolly as he 
ate his cold mutton and drank the tea provided for 
him by his grinning Chinese cook. And he was bus- 
ily engaged in extracting as much amusement out of 
chaffing that stolid looking individual as he was able, 
when a man on horseback pulled up in front of the 
door. 

“ Hulloa, McBride,” cried Arthur, in some surprise, 
<( what’s up now ? Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

“No, nothing wrong,” responded the visitor, 
“ only ridden over to tell you the master’s had a letter 
from Sydney, telling him that two young Englishmen 
are coming up to stay with him. They are out here 
globe-trotting, and the Governor wrote up to Mr. Atkins 
asking if he’d put them up for a day or two, and show 
them a little of our life in the bush. Of course he knew 
that at such an hospitable place as Currendore they 


THE SAILOR'S HOME. 


73 


would be made welcome, so he said they would start 
to-morrow. And he’s also got a letter from some of 
his naval friends in the fleet at Sydney, saying that 
they wanted to come and spend their leave up here ; 
so we shall have a house full. They’ll all be here in 
a day or two, and I was to tell you to get in any horses 
you came across, and make arrangements with the 
folks round hereabouts for a wallaby drive one day 
soon, and also to find out how the ducks are doing on 
the creek, and whether there are enough to make it 
worth while going after them. Atkins said of course, 
the fellows who are coming up must be killing or try- 
ing to kill something the whole time they are here, so 
we must just bustle round and provide for the slaugh- 
ter.” 

“ All right,” laughed Arthur, “ tell him I'll man- 
age that part of the business ; but come in and have 
some of my excellent breakfast.” 

“ No, thanks, can’t stop,” replied McBride, “ I 
must go round to old Jameson’s and tell him to let his 
men know of the ‘ great doings ’ as he’ll call it, we 
intend having up at the house. We shall want him to 
help us drive, you know.” 

4 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


74 

So saying, lie guided bis horse on to the track, and 
was soon seen galloping away over the plain. 

Our hero was not too pleased at the prospect of 
."*'' o .ting “ globe-trotters,” any one of whom might 
very well recognize in him the Arthur Dacre of 
bygone days, and he sincerely hoped that the new- 
comers would not prove to be people he had ever 
seen. However, he would not let this thought trouble 
him ; “ it’s only a false pride ” he told himself, “ which 
makes me dislike to mix with people whom I have 
known in more palmy times. Why should I be 
ashamed of an honest desire to earn my own bread ? 
I ought rather to be proud of it,” he added ; but yet, 
down in his heart of hearts, though the very knowl- 
edge of it disgusted him, he well knew that he was 
ashamed, and that lie did not look forward to this 
meeting with people from the world which he had 
left and in all probability forever. 

It was some three days after this morning when 
McBride brought the news of these new arrivals, that 
all things were ready for the proposed wallaby hunt. 
After all, the party was not a very large one, there 
were two globe-trotters and two naval officers. The 
former were ordinary young Englishmen, differing but 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


75 


little from any cliance youths one might any day come 
across. But their chief charm (to Arthur Dacre) lay 
in the fact that he had never set eyes upon either of 
them before, though their names, and even some of 
their people were known to him. George Treadwell 
was a well set-up young man, fair, sunburned, athletic 
and a keen sportsman. He had plenty of money, and 
much to his credit, was now engaged upon spending 
some of it in foreign travel, outcome of a laudable 
desire to improve his mind, and see other parts of the 
globe besides just that little narrow groove in which 
his previous life had been passed. Oh, that others 
would follow in his steps. Eton, London, Windsor, 
Scotland, Cowes, etc., are all very well in their way, 
but oh, my dear sirs, there are other places, other peo- 
ple, other ways; people who can shoot as well as you, 
men who can ride as straight as the veriest Nimrod 
amongst you ; there are fellows who can laugh, chaff, 
and be merry ; men who are loyal, men who are 
brave. There are women as fair as those at home, 
good, kind women, honest and true, women who are 
not afraid to bear the heat and burden of their hus- 
bands’ lives, share in their troubles, nor shrink when 
danger besets their path. There are lives, noble lives, 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


being led in homes beyond the sea, in lands ye know 
apt of. Far be it from me to depreciate my home 
and native land ; to me, our island and all it contains, 
is number one with ease, but I know 1 trust, that there 
are other lands, and other men, and, as I said before, 
would that those who are in all other respects so gen- 
erous, would that they could know it too. How many 
charming people are spoilt by the littleness of their 
minds. And all this apropos of George Treadwell. — 
I really am very sorry that his determination to travel 
should have led me to call down such a torrent of 
remark upon your heads. 

The other guest was Philip Fraser, a capital chap ; 
but though he was now nearly thirty, he was in reality 
not a day older than when he left school. He left 
school a boy, and had remained a boy during all subse- 
quent years. His idea of happiness was cricket ; his 
idea of misery, that season of the year when he could 
not play at his favorite game. Life to him was 
cricket, and little more. 

Well, no wonder he had a bright and laugh- 
ing face, for cricket is not a bad game, as every- 
one knows. Of course he shot, of course he 
rode, but I fancy there was very little keenness 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


77 


with which he did either, and rather far would 
he have looked over an old score book than read 
any novel that had ever been penned. 

He and Treadwell got on very well together; 
the latter, as I have said, was a great sportsman, 
and Fraser being goodnature personified, agreed 
to any plan that was proposed, and followed smil- 
ing whithersoever the leader of this expedition 
should select. In Sydney he had had his innings ; he 
had played several games of cricket, moreover 
with great success, and now, when his friend 
proposed going up country to see something of 
bush life, and get a little shooting, Phil declared 
himself as only too delighted ; perhaps he even 
promised himself a game of his beloved cricket 
with the village rustics on some village green. You 
see, he had never been in the bush, and proba- 
bly pictured “up country” as being not very 
dissimilar to his little Dorsetshire village at home. 

The two naval officers were excellent types of 
that service to which they belonged, that service 
which contains so many good fellows, fellows 
with no humbug about them, no nonsense, no 
affectation, real good sterling chaps, such as outside 


78 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


that profession, one but too rarely meets. “A sim- 
ple sailor ” is an old saying, and one which a naval 
officer might very possibly resent, but yet it is, in a 
measure, true ; for, though the sailor may not be sim- 
ple in the literal sense of the word, though he may 
be, in truth as shrewd and penetrating as the prover- 
bial Yankee, yet is he simple ; simple in his manners, 
simple in his tastes. He is a man to feel at home 
with wheresoever you may meet him ; accustomed as 
he is to make himself at home in any corner of the 
world and under auy situation ; by force of example 
you yourself will feel at ease, and as though you had 
known this capital companion ever since you can re- 
member. Simple pleasures please him. Simple peo- 
ple need not apologize for the poorness of their hos- 
pitality ; of their best they give, well knowing that 
their naval guest will not misunderstand, but rather 
accept the welcome which they offer as an earnest of 
what, should fortune smile, they would be proud to 
do. 

Several of these naval officers, from the ships now 
lying off Sydney, had from time to time visited at 
Currendore, and Arthur had always been pleased to 
meet them there ; they were good sportsmen and good 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


79 


fellows and the days that he spent hunting and shoot- 
ing with them, he counted amongst the happiest of 
his life. 

Of course, they discovered that the manager of 
Atkins’ back station was very superior to the position 
he now held, but they never presumed upon that 
knowledge, or ventured to penetrate the incognito 
which this cheery companion had evidently chosen to 
assume. 

As for Atkins, his frank, downright nature went 
forth in all its being towards these fellows so made 
after his own heart, and he had placed his house and 
station at the disposal of any officers who should be 
able to get away and visit him. And not slow were 
they in availing themselves of this invitation, and a 
week seldom passed without one or another of them 
coming up for a night or two, till the run of Curren- 
dore soon became known as 44 The Sailors’ Home;” 

Just imagine what delight for a tired watchkeeper 
to escape from his arduous duties to stretch his legs 
upon the broad plains of Currendore, and when the 
evening came, to stretch them once again beneath the 
well-spread board provided by their host’s most kind 
and pretty wife. And if they enjoyed it, think of the 


80 


THE SAILOR’S HOME. 


midshipmen, emancipated from the thraldom of the 
gun-room, away from the all-seeing eye of their Com- 
mander and Naval Instructor, away upon the back of 
a horse who would gallop all day scarcely feeling that 
light weight as he speeds across the paddocks of Cur- 
rendore. The. bathing in the creek, the kangaroo 
hunting, the duck-shooting, and above all — the grub. 
Every night a “ duff night,” puddings, made with the 
fair hands of dear Mrs. Atkins, who would sometimes 
let “ her boys ” as she called them, assist in their 
manufacture. 

Yes, it was a pleasant home. They are scattered 
now, doubtless, those who partook of Jim Atkins’ 
hospitality ; all over the world are they, his quondam 
guests. But not one of them is there, I venture to 
affirm, who does not cherish sweet recollections of by- 
gone days, or love to recall to mind those happy times 
he spent at Currendore. 


A RIDE, 


81 


CHAPTER VII. 

A RIDE. 

** We formed into line ’neath the merry sunshine 
Near the logs at the end of the railing, 

‘ Are you ready, boys ? Go/ cried the starter, and low 

Sank the flag, and away we went sailing.”— Gordon. 

T HERE were few servants at this hospitable house 
in the bush ; if you wanted a thing done here, 
you generally had to do it yourself, helpless people 
were not wanted there ; and however helpless a man 
might feel, no one would wish to appear at disadvan- 
tage beside such an energetic plain-spoken gentleman 
as the host of Currendore. Therefore, for very shame, 
each visitor had, as the naval fellows express it, to 
“ dig out ” and shift for himself. 

H o one likes to be thought a duffer, at least, no En- 
glishman, and I verily believe there is very little that 
a man would not endeavor to do if he found others 
doing it too. It is not pleasant to be left behind, or 
show oneself unable to perform an act which youi 
neighbor can accomplish with such perfect ease. But 
4 * 


82 


A RIDE. 


on this particular morning of which I speak, the ability 
of the guests was not put to a very severe test, they 
were only saddling their horses preparatory to starting 
for the wallaby drive. They were going to ride 
over to the creek at Wooloo ; there Arthur Dacre 
was to meet them with the beaters, and at a little dis- 
tance from there, the first drive would take place. 
They filed out of the yard — Australian horses have a 
tendency to move in single file like geese, a tendency 
traceable to the frequency with which they have been 
cantered along a narrow track. First went Atkins on 
his old grey mare, not much to look at perhaps, but a 
steady old goer, who had borne him bravely during 
many a long, weary mile ; sure-footed as a goat, and as 
good a fencer as could be found anywhere within a 
hundred mile radius of Currendore. Next came 
Treadwell, beautifully got up in breeches and boots, a 
sight in the bush to make men marvel, but he sat his 
horse well, and like one who knew what he was about. 
After him came Fraser ; lie, too, sat his horse right 
enough, though not looking quite so at home as his 
friend. Had his mount been a vicious brute, or even 
fresh and up to larks, I doubt if the cricketer would 
have made a prolonged stay upon his back. But the 


A RIDE. 


83 


horse was a quiet one, as, by the way, are the majority 
of nags upon an Australian station ; buck-jumpers, I 
fancy, are fewer and further between than they were. 

Then followed the two naval officers, Cyril 
Danesbury and Charlie Porter. The former was 
a quiet rather staid individual, possessing the 
droll combination of a demure countenance, a 
twinkle in his eye, and a perennial smile. He 
always smiled — no matter what occurred, he smiled 
— if the sea came into his cabin and floated his bed, 
he smiled ; if his neighbor at mess requested him 
to pass the cold mutton, while asking if it were tough. 
“ Yes, tough as leather,” would be the reply, while he 
continued to chew this resisting dainty with a smile of 
placid content. Cyril loved horses, and was, rather 
rare for a sailor, a good rider ; therefore, at this mo- 
ment then, it was not unnatural that he should smile. 

Charlie Porter, on the contrary, was a real genial 
sailor such as one has read about in books, jolly, laugh- 
ing and bright ; rather rollicking perhaps, ready for any 
thing from fighting to sleeping ; equally eager when 
riding a steeplechase for a hundred pound prize, or 
racing a midshipman up the rigging for the price of 
a glass of beer. Whatever lie did, he did with a 


84 


A RIDE. 


vigor, a boisterous vigor it often was, but still a vigor 
which deserved success, and success often did crown 
his efforts, for is not a dogged determination to win, 
and an absence of half-heartedness, more than half the 
battle ; he even rode with vigor, and at this moment 
was digging his heels into his horse, and shouting 
“ whoop ” in the vain endeavor to entice that weary 
quadruped into signs of insubordination, sufficient to 
justify a little showing off of superior horsemanship, 
whereat those globe-trotting chappies might sit aston- 
ished. 

But the animal he bestrode was not such a fool, 
and being perfectly aware that the journey before him 
was no light one, he felt small inclination to weary 
himself with a useless tussle even before it began, and 
he went plodding along after the others in a perfectly 
unconcerned manner which should have acted as a 
silent reproof upon the too ardent sportsman he car- 
ried. 

“ Now, then, Porter,” cried Atkins, “ leave the 
animal alone ; you’ll get no change out of old Trum 
peter, I may as well tell you before we start, but if 
you are so keen for a fall, you shall ride a buck- 
jumper to-morrow.” 


A RIDE. 


85 


“Yes,” put in Cyril, drily, “that’ll quiet his too 
excited nerves. Porter always likes to feel that he is 
busy riding every moment he is on a horse’s back ; 
once on a buck-jumper, he’ll find that the business is 
pretty real after all.” 

“ Ha, ha, trust Danesbury not to lose a chance,” 
laughed Atkins, “ don’t you feel crushed, Porter ?” 

“ Oh, Pm accustomed to be withered,” replied that 
individual, “he practices his little remarks upon 
me all day, and Pm quite used to it ; they make no 
impression upon me I assure you, it’s like a mosquito 
trying to sting an elephant.” 

“ Well, I have often wondered,” answered Danes- 
in his quiet way, “ how it was my words seemed incap- 
able of penetrating to your mind, but since you 
inform us that you have the cuticle of a pachyderm, I 
can quite undersrand my want of success.” 

“ By Jove, you’d better leave him alone, old chap,” 
said Atkins, “ lie’s too many for you,” as Porter, taking 
off his hat, bowed mockingly at his friend, and then 
addressing the company generally, remarked : “gentle- 
men, I am crushed.” 

Everybody laughed, and Atkins putting his horse 
into a canter, they all started after him across the 


86 


A RIDE. 


plain, and what a ripping ride it was. Atkins led 
them a pretty dance. Anyone who has been in the 
bush knows how the dead gum-trees lie upon the 
ground on every side ; some, great formidable-looking 
pieces of timber, splendid jumps are they too. Choos- 
ing his line, and probably knowing each jump by 
heart, having been over them so often, Atkins led the 
way. Here his mare leapt lightly over a huge trunk 
with a double on the other side, because of the 
branches which stretched out beyond, then across a 
great ragged hairy bundle of boughs which seemed to 
have fallen in a heap alone, then off again, in and out, 
out and in, of the still standing trees, the dry twigs 
crackling beneath his horse's hoofs ; then came a log 
fence, a horrid apparition in the distance, but on 
nearer view, not so very terrible after all. The others 
followed him, each one taking exactly the same line 
as his leader, and it was interesting to watch how the 
riders went. 

Atkins scarcely moved in his saddle, he knew his 
horse and his horse knew him ; they had taken these 
jumps so often together, and like one they now 
seemed to pop over on the other side. Treadwell, 
though a good rider, had never done this sort of thing 


A RIDE. 


87 


before ; he didn’t know his horse or its capabilities, 
therefore failed to trust him sufficiently, and tried to 
do too much himself ; he settled down to each jump, 
putting his horse at it as he would have done in the 
hunting field at home, and his animal resented this. 
He had always been accustomed to canter up to the 
obstacle, and hop over it in his own good time ; it 
upset him to be bustled, and “ ridden at ” the fence, as 
though he didn’t know just as well as his rider that 
that fence had to be jumped, and what was more, he 
had to jump it, and not the man upon his back; 
therefore, although the second couple got over the 
jumps in perfect safety, it was not done as comfortably 
as either could have wished. 

Then came Fraser ; he didn’t want to interfere 
much with his horse, and felt only too pleased to find 
that the beast seemed to know his way about, and 
appeared perfectly competent to look after himself, 
for he, the rider, had his hands quite full enough in 
striving to sit tight, and not disgrace himself by show- 
ing daylight to those naval chaps behind ; and after a 
time, when he found that his mount went like a 
machine and jumped each time in almost precisely the 
same manner, leaving him nothing to do but sit still, 


88 


A RIDE. 


he got on better, settled down quite comfortably, feel- 
ing that really he wasn’t such a bad rider after all. 
Cyril Danesbnry was at home a first class, not to say, 
first flight, rider ; also he had ridden in the bush quite 
often enough, to know that it was not exactly the 
same thing as galloping over grass at home ; and 
therefore, sitting firmly in the saddle, though perhaps 
he may have, from long habit, attempted to take a 
larger share in the management of his horse than that 
animal considered necessary, he went over all those 
varied fences as quietly and unconcernedly as Jim 
Atkins himself. 

Porter, of course, was thoroughly enjoying himself, 
shouting at intervals “ gone away-whoop — tally-ho.” 
His excitable temperament all aglow at the delightful 
exercise ; he put his steady animal at his jumps in the 
most approved fashion, and if anyone had turned round 
to look, he might have been perceived amusing himself 
by sitting down in his saddle to ride imaginary 
finishes, or standing up in his stirrups as though the 
view-holloa he gave had really brought him back to the 
hunting field at home ; sometimes, too, he would 
unship his feet, as he called it, and pretend he were 
riding barebacked. At one hioment, indeed, he nar- 


A RIDE. 


89 


rowly escaped a fall through throwing his right leg 
across the saddle, and taking a small jump, riding side 
saddle ; he was naturally within an ace of falling, 
and this rather sobered him, for it certainly wouldn’t 
do to tumble off at a jump, as it wasn’t very likely 
anyone would credit the yarn that he had been riding 
lady-fashion, and hence the fall. Thus our little party 
continued on its way. 

“ By Jove,” cried Treadwell, “ this is glorious.” 

And I agree with him. It must have been glori- 
ous to ride thus in the early morning, the eye delight- 
ing in the novelty of the scene and surroundings, 
finding himself for the first time viewing the vast 
grandeur of a distant land, flying through the air upon 
a game little horse, capital fellows as his companions, 
and before him, the prospect of a good day’s sport. 
He thought to himself, why have I never done this 
before? Why have I pottered away so many years, 
dawdling about at home, going over the same ground 
and doing the selfsame things ? At the creek Arthur 
Dacre met them ; with him were the beaters, some 
twenty men on horseback, and in the distance little 
specks could be seen wending their way across the 
plain in the direction of those already assembled. 


90 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


“ Fins, furs, and feathers, they are and were 
For our use and pleasure created, 

We can shoot, and hunt, and angle, and snare 
Unquestioned, if not unsated. ” 

“ Shall we who for pastime have squandered life, 

Who are styled ‘ the Lords of Creation !’ 

Recoil from our chance of more equal strife, 

And our risk of retaliation ?” — Gordon. 

HE greetings over, and the whole party having 



I mustered, the calvacade moved off, to about 
half a mile down the creek. Here the shooters, num- 
bering some eighteen, rode to their respective posi- 
tions, Arthur placing them, while the remainder 
galloped off, making their way to the further side of a 
thick clump of bush whence it was proposed to com- 
mence driving. Atkins had previously warned his 
friends to keep a sharp look out for their neighbors in 
the drive, and to stand near some pretty stout tree, 
behind which, it would be possible to take shelter, 
should necessity arise “ for,” said he, “some of our 
fellows up here shoot pretty wild, and when they in- 
tend looseing their piece, don’t always take the trouble 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


91 


to see if anyone is standing in the direction of tlieir 
aim. Neither Treadwell nor Fraser had shot a wal- 
laby before ; what was more, neither had ever seen 
one, so it was with a certain amount of anticipation 
that they dismounted and prepared to deal death 
amongst these pretty, timid animals. 

It was not long before they came, one by one, hop- 
ping as noiselessly as possible among that dry under 
growth, the cracking of which soon betrayed their 
whereabouts, stopping to listen, their pretty little 
heads held erect as they paused to gaze around, and 
see if all was well. But all was not well. The 
danger was soon scented, and darting away, with long 
astounding hops they came. 

Treadwell fired at the first he saw, straight at him, 
and what was his disgust at finding that he had missed 
him by some fifteen feet ; rather wide of the mark ; but 
he had not yet realized the distance these animals can 
spring, or at what a tremendous pace they can go. 
One after the other, he missed them, till perfectly dis- 
gusted, and it was not until quite the close of the day 
that he got the knack, and found that the shooting of 
wallaby was, after all, about the easiest shooting in his 
experience. Rabbit shooting would appear very diffi- 


92 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


cult after this. But the majority of the shooters were 
far from skillful, and considering the number of wal- 
laby which passed them during that first drive, there 
was wonderfully little execution done. 

The best shot there was the light-hearted Charlie 
Porter ; he was undoubtedly a very fair performer 
with the gun, and pretty well accustomed to the shoot- 
ing of wallaby, seldom if ever missed his aim. Atkins 
kept peppering away, whenever he got a good shot, 
but he was either too lazy, or insufficiently keen to 
waste his cartridges over anything like a long sight. 
The cricketer, on the contrary, was keenness itself, 
occasionally getting so excited that when he failed to 
bring down his quarry, scarcely restrained himself 
from starting off in pursuit, but luckily for him, some 
fresh target for his prowess, would suddenly attract his 
attention, and give a chance for the retrieving of his 
fortunes. Cyril was quietly smiling and shooting ; all 
alone he stood at one end of the line, and here, behind 
a tall gum-tree patiently waited, smiling to himself in 
a self-satisfied manner, as he unerringly “ wiped the 
eye ” of his neighbor, or brought down with a flop 
some unhappy animal that had run the gauntlet of the 
whole line with success. 


THE WALL IB Y DRIVE. 


93 


On these occasions, when, after listening to a per- 
fect fusillade of pop, bang, bang, pop, and the 
escaping wallaby fell in the end to his own more accu- 
rate aim, the smile Cyril gave was good to witness, if 
only any one had been there to see, for it literally con- 
tained volumes that smile, whole volumes of delight 
at this wholesale “ wiping of eyes.” 

The drive over, the whole party remounted and 
rode away to the next beat. In Australia, people 
never walk. Think of that, you who are lazily in- 
clined. 

Thus the time passed till lun^h. Mrs. Atkins was 
to meet the shooters with this meal, and with her 
were to be several ladies from an adjoining station. 

What fun this lunch was. Very nearly fifty peo- 
ple, sitting down to a meal in the heart of the most 
wild-looking bush. Where had they all come from in 
that almost uninhabited place.? It seemed nigh mar- 
vellous that so many could be gathered together in 
that sparsely populated country ; but distance is noth- 
ing to an Australian, and I should be sorry to say 
how many miles some of the party had driven or 
ridden in order to be present at this festivity. 

They formed a pretty picture. The horses all 


94 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


around hitched to the lower branches of trees, men 
seated in every conceivable position upon the ground, 
while pretty Mrs. Atkins and her friends bustled 
about serving out the tea and the most tempting- 
looking hot potatoes. Arthur always thoroughly en- 
joyed these shoot lunches ; they were so entirely dif- 
ferent to anything to which he had been accustomed 
in the old country ; people seemed so happy, there was 
so little that was false or make believe in their enjoy- 
ment, while the women folk were so helpful and in- 
tent upon dispensing hospitality to all alike, rather 
different to the manner of ladies who join a shooting 
lunch on the other side of the world. There they 
are oft times thought to be in the way, I fear ; here, 
they are not only not in the waj 7 , but they are indis- 
pensable. I don’t know how the tea would be made, 
or the provisions served, if Mrs. Atkins did not make 
a point of coming out to do these things herself. 

After luncheon, she and her companions were left 
to pack up, while the shooters proceeded on to the 
next drive. 

By the time the sun was beginning to set a large 
bag had been made. To a person whose only shooting 
had been done in England, it seemed strange to kill 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


95 


and leave the game upon the ground, and it took some 
time for Treadwell and Fraser to realize that it was 
unnecessary to pick up anything that they shot, and 
that to produce the ears of the animals as some show 
for the expenditure of cartridges was all that was 
required. 

By the time that they had ridden home, Jim 
Atkins’ guests felt that they had thoroughly earned 
their dinner, and were none of them reluctant to 
seek repose at an unusually early hour. 

The next morning the whole party were up be- 
times, and as the day before, scouring across the plains 
towards the creek, where Atkins had promised them 
a good day’s duck-shooting. They soon reached the 
scene of action, and there dismounting, began to 
arrange the campaign. Arthur took charge of two 
guns, and Atkins the other two, and each proceeded in 
opposite directions along the banks of the creek. The 
guns were posted, and then, at a given signal, the birds 
were disturbed, and it was not very long before a dark 
cloud of swans and ducks was circling round in the 
air. 

The too ardent Fraser incurred Atkins’ wrath by 
firing off his gun the moment the ducks came within 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


shot, thereby running the risk of driving them awa u 
for good, and absolutely spoiling the whole day’s sport, 
but barring this incident, which luckily escaped the ill 
effects anticipated, the two parties were rewarded for 
their patience, and there soon ensued a merry rattle of 
shot as the birds went circling from the creek to the 
tank, and then back to their former position. 

At the close of the afternoon, very wet and very 
tired ; wet because some of the shooters had been 
obliged to wade through shallow water, in order to 
hide themselves in a clump of low bushes upon a tiny 
island ; and tired from the effects of yesterday’s exer- 
tions added to those of to-day ; the party at a word 
from Atkins prepared to return. Each individual had 
been collecting his own game, and numbering up the 
score which had fallen to his gun. They were all 
there now, coming towards the buggy, except Fraser ; 
where was he ? 

“ Why the devil doesn’t he come,” said Atkins, 
“ bother the chap, we shan’t get home before dark.” 

But it was no use standing there, and saying 
“ bother the chap,” for the chap didn’t come, so off 
they went in search of him. 

They soon saw a distant figure running up and 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


97 


down with his eyes upon the ground, somewhat after 
the fashion of a retriever dog when searching for a 
partridge in the turnips, but the resemblance did not 
end here, for it soon transpired that the sportsman was 
looking for a bird. 

“ An awful long shot,” he explained, “ a splendid 
shot” (he omitted to confess that he had blazed at the 
mob) “ and I distinctly saw it fall here. I can’t think 
where it can have got to ; it can’t have got away, for I 
saw it fall stone dead, and it never moved.” 

“ Oli, never mind that one,” said Atkins, u come 
along ; bring the others, and let’s get home.” 

u Well,” answered Fraser, looking rather discon- 
certed, “I had awful bad luck. I hit a swan, but he 
flew over in Porter’s direction, and then fell dead close 
by him ; we fired together, I think.” 

“ Yes, I certainly got a black swan,” said that gen- 
treman, smiling, “ but I counted it as mine.” 

“ Well, anyhow, there was another duck,” pursued 
Fraser, “ but a large hawk came and took it off right 
under my eyes; I aimed at the hawk and missed 
it.” 

The others fairly roared at this, but Fraser, look- 


98 


THE WALLABY DRIVE, 


ing solemn as a judge declared that it was an absolute 
fact. 

“ Yes,” laughed Atkins, “I daresay it is; I’ve 
seen such a thing happen myself, but why didn’t you 
kill the hawk, man ?” 

“ I tried to,” replied poor Fraser, meekly, “but, I 
say, come and let us look for that duck, and so saying, 
he recommenced to run about, peering on to the 
ground as he went. 

“Oh, d — the duck,” muttered Atkins, striding 
away in the direction of the buggy, where stood Ar- 
thur Dacre, waiting, “ here,” he cried, “ I want you to 
do something for me.” 

The two men whispered for a moment, and pres- 
ently Arthur, with his good-natured smile, walked 
over to where Fraser, assisted by Porter, was still 
hunting for his lost duck. 

“Here, let me help you,” said he, “ Where did 
you say the bird fell ?” 

“Why just there, I could swear to it,” said Fraser, 
as he began to explain his and the birds’ relative posi- 
tions all over again. 

“And, by Jove, here it is,” he exclaimed, with 
triumph, picking up a dead duck which lay right upon 


THE WALLABY DRIVE. 


99 


the spot indicated, “ I knew I was right, although I half 
believe you fellows didn’t think I had really shot it 
at all. Well, seeing’s believing, at anyrate, and here’s 
the duck; look here,” he shouted, holding it aloft 
towards Atkins, who sat rather impatiently waiting in 
the buggy, “ hurrah, here’s the duck ; patience 
rewarded,” he added, turning to Arthur. 

“ Yes, it often is,” replied that individual, his eyes 
sparkling with fun, and a look of satisfaction all over 
his countenance. 

Atkins received the whole party with a broad grin, 
and slapping Fraser on the back, declared that he was 
a splendid shot, after all. And it was not until 
exactly a year afterwards that he learnt how Arthur 
Dacre, directed by Atkins, had pocketed one of the 
dead ducks, from the buggy, and borne it off to lay 
upon the ground near the spot indicated by the enthu- 
siastic shooter ; it was this 6ame old duck which poor 
Fraser discovered with such delight, and so triumph- 
antly returned to its former resting place in the bot- 
tom of the buggy. 

No one else was told of the joke at the time, the 
good-hearted though quick-tempered host would 
rather have died than say anything which might per- 


100 


MISSING. 


haps hurt the feelings of his English visitor, though 
probably no one would have enjoyed the joke better 
than Philip Fraser himself. 


CHAPTER IX. 


MISSING. 


* In the low branches heavily laden with dew, 

In the long grasses spoiling with deadwood that day, 
Where the black wood, the box and the bastard oak grew, 
Between the tall green trees we galloped away.” — Gordon. 


A 


*NT bushrangers now hereabouts?” remarked 
Treadwell, after they had started on their 
homeward journey. 

“ No, that’s almost a thing of the past,” said 
Atkins, “ we’re too civilized for those sort of gentle- 
men now.” 

“ But what was that yarn about those Eton fel- 
lows?” asked Porter, “weren’t they ‘stuck up’ or 
something of the sort ?” 

“ Oh, yes, that was very funny,” laughed Atkins. 
“There were two youngsters fresh from home, and 
but lately left Eton, where, I have been told, fellows 


MISSING 


101 


make matches who shall possess the most pairs of 
trousers ; well, these chappies came out here, bringing 
all their fine toggery with them, and settled on a sta- 
tion right away in the bush. One night some men 
‘ stuck them up,’ stormed the place, and made these 
two new chums prisoners. They then proceeded to make 
themselves at home, and ransacked the house. There 
was evidently a wag amongst the party, for while 
rummaging over the extensive wardrobes of their 
unwilling hosts, he detected their dress clothes. 
These he hauled out and brought downstairs. The 
owners were then directed to prepare a good dinner 
for the crowd which, having no choice but to obey, 
they did. They were then ordered to put on their 
dress clothes and wait at table. They demurred.” 

“ ‘ Why dress clothes V they asked.” 

“ 4 Because we are gentleman accustomed to high 
society, remarked the leader, ‘ and we cannot really 
dine without waiters decently clothed in evening dress 
to wait upon us. Come, sharp’s the word, dress your- 
selves or the dinner will get cold ; and then wait upon, 
us with your best manners, or — ” but he did not fin- 
ish his threat, for a revolver held in their direction 
was quite sufficient to induce these poor young dan- 


102 


MISSING. 


dies to slip into their dress clothes quicker than they 
had probably ever been able to do before ; and in a 
few moments they were handing potatoes and chang- 
ing plates, as though they had done it all their lives.” 

“By Jove, is that true?” laughed Treadwell. 

“ Perfectly. Why, one of the brothers told me 
the yarn himself. You’ve met him down at Sydney, 
haven’t you ?” he continued, turning to Porter. 
“ Hulloa, where’s Danesbury ?” 

“ He said he’d ride on home,” replied Arthur, “ he 
was wet through, so I advised him to make for home 
at once without waiting for us.” 

“ Lucky beggar, he’ll have his dry things on, and 
get a hot grog from the missus before we do,” said 
Atkins, “ by Jove, I feel a bit chilly myself, I wish 
we were home now.” 

It was not very long before they fetched the home 
station, and once there, warm fires and warm drinks 
soon restored their usual circulation. But where was 
Cyril? Not got home yet? He must have lost his 
way. 

“ I hope he’ll get back soon,” said Atkins, “ or 
he’ll never find his way in the dark.” 

“ Oh, he’ll be all right,” added Porter, “ a sailor is 


MISSING. 


103 


never at a loss, and besides, he can find his way home 
by the stars ” 

But all the same, no Cyril appeared, and when 
dinner was over and there were still no signs of him 
everyone began to feel uneasy, and it was with a feel- 
ing of relief that they all rose to their feet, as Atkins 
suddenly said. 

“ Come on boys, let’s go and look for him.” 

Armed with lanterns, the whole party were soon 
careering over the country u cooing” to each other as 
they went, for fear lest they too might get lost, and 
also on the chance of being overheard by their missing 
comrade. Though they did not separate beyond ear- 
shot, yet the line which thus was stretched across the 
plain, was a pretty wide one, and it covered a great 
deal of ground. After some two hours of this search, 
they were rewarded by an answering “ cooey ” which 
told that him they sought was alive, if not well, and 
that their alarm was not a serious one after all. 

u I know what has happened,” shouted Atkins, at 
first sound of Danesbury’s answering signal, “ he’s 
come to grief over the wire fence. By Jove, it will 
be lucky if he hasn’t broken something or other.” 

A few moments sufficed for the whole party to 


104 


MISSING. 


reach the scene of action, or rather inaction, for there 
upon the ground, very inactive indeed, sat Cyril, with 
the usual pleasant smile upon his good-natured coun- 
tenance, looking as though he had been doing nothing 
so out of the way after all, and that it were of his 
own free will, and for his own particular pleasure that 
he was thus seated upon the ground at eleven in the 
evening, instead of stretching himself in one of his 
host’s comfortable arm-chairs over at the hospitable 
house. He proved to be unhurt, though his horse was 
badly cut with the wire. 

He explained that, getting off the track and fear- 
ing it would get dark before he could find it again, he 
had left matters to his horse, in the hopes of his 
bringing him home in safety, as he doubtless would 
have done, for the sagacious animal had brought him 
many miles nearer home than they had been when 
they started under his guidance, till cantering along in 
the darkness, they rode full at this wire fence, and 
there came to utter grief. Cyril had pitched clean over 
the horse’s head on to the other side, and beyond a few 
bruises and a severe shaking was unhurt ; but he had 
been much concerned about the poor horse, whose cut 
legs he had bandaged as well as he was able with his 


MISSING. 


105 


handkerchief and scarf, then, knowing it would be 
useless to attempt to find his way on foot, he had just 
sat still where he was, and waited till his absence 
should be thought sufficiently long to warrant a 
search. 

He knew they would look for him, and therefore 
never worried his head about the matter excepting to 
wish he had something to eat, and his clothes rather 
less wet and uncomfortable from the effects of his 
pursuit of the duck. 

“ Yes, Danesbury is a perfect philosopher,” 
laughed Porter, “ nothing puts him out. I believe 
he’d have sat still here and spiled for a week, just 
waiting for us to come and interrupt him.” 

« I should have certainly tried to ” smiled that 
individual, “ it’s not much use bothering your head 
about what can’t be helped, and no amount of f lan- 
guage ’ would have enabled me to find my way, there- 
fore the safest thing to do was to sit still, but Pm 
not altogether sorry to move though,” he added, 
vaulting on to Porter’s horse, and leaving that ener- 
getic officer to lead his own lame one home, and thus 
they returned, much to the relief of Mrs. Atkins, who, 
having prepared all sorts of good things for the wan- 
5 * 


106 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


derers, was now hovering about the doorway expecting 
their arrival. 


CHAPTER X. 


jim atkins’ picnic. 

“ The wind has slumbered throughout the day, 
Now a fitful gust springs over the bay, 

My wandering thoughts no longer stray, 

I’ll fix my overcoat buttons ; 

Secure my old hat as best I may, 

(And a shocking bad one it is, by the way) 

Blow a denser cloud from my stunted clay, 

And then friend Bell, as the Frenchmen say 
We’ll go back again to our muttons.”— Gordon. 


T HOSE cheerful days at Currendore were soon 
to end, and if I have dwelt over the telling, it 
is perhaps because, I am loth to leave behind, such a 
time of peace and contentment in order to mix again 
with the wild rush of the world without. In after 
years, Arthur would look back upon this present time, 
which now perhaps seemed dreary and dull, and imag- 
ine that it was then that the only true peace of his life 
had been felt, and only then, that happiness, which, 
after all, is a most negative quality, had ever really 
reached him. 

The day after the duck-shooting expedition had 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


107 


been arranged for a picnic. Now a picnic, as we 
understand the word, is a very common-place, every- 
day affair ; but a picnic in the bush is a festivity of no 
small magnitude. Women enjoy an outing, and even 
in London will the fair sex exhibit eagerness when 
there is talk of a water-party on the Thames, or an 
expedition to the Star and Garter Hotel, and if this is 
so, think then, of the fair sex in the bush ; fair sex 
whose lot it is to seldom or never behold the shape of 
man, excepting perhaps, their own male kind, and the 
station hands about the run. 

Imagine, if you can, their excitement at mention 
of a picnic, which would comprise the elite of the sur- 
rounding hundred miles, with a couple of globe-trot- 
ters and a pair of naval officers into the bargain. To 
the London young lady, I could never hope to explain 
this, yet, to give her some slight idea of what the 
neighborhood of Currendore experienced at the mere 
suggestion of Jim Atkins’ picnic, let me mention, that 
in a very wild country, the wildest corner, perhaps, of 
one of our distant colonies, there once happened to 
arrive a man-of-war ; not only a man-of-war, but the 
man-of-war, the Admiral’s own ship, the flagship of 
the fleet. 


108 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC 


In a country yet unblessed by post, and entirely 
innocent of the telegraph, news spreads like wildfire 
itself, and thus the news of this great ship’s arrival 
had very soon spread throughout the length and 
breadth of the land. 

Picture to yourself that you are living in the wild- 
est bush, then perhaps you can convey to your under- 
standing some notion of what effect this news had 
upon the few scattered inhabitants. The men brushed 
up their clothes, and went out to bring in the horses ; 
the ladies mended their skirts, tightened their waists, 
and prepared to visit the world which had thus come 
bodily into their own country. Naval officers! Yes, 
they had all heard of naval officers ; the papers had 
been full of them, their portraits had appeared in the 
illustrated periodicals, and their description and biog- 
raphies in every daily of every colony which they had 
as yet visited, and here were these heroes in person, 
while they alone were here to receive them, bid them 
welcome, and accept their homage. 

Small wonder, then, that these unsophisticated 
damsels from the bush, mounted their horses and set 
forth en masse to receive the “ Queen’s navee.” I 
will not descant upon the happiness of the multitude 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


109 


who that evening sat basking in the smiles of these 
rulers of the seas, arrayed as they were, in all the 
glory of epaulettes, and golden lace, with buttons of 
burnished brass ; such can be more easily imagined 
than described ; but rather will I here relate the grief 
of one poor maid, who alone, amidst this crowd of 
rejoicers, was destined to suffer disappointment and 
disillusion indeed. 

All the evening long she danced with one young 
man, how fascinating he was — how sparkling his con- 
versation — how brilliant his repartee, although, for 
some strange reason or other, his clothes did not 
sparkle with gold, nor did any buttons on his breast 
shine brilliant in the light. But perhaps for all that, 
he was a greater swell ; and thus the poor deceived 
young maiden lost her heart without a thought of ill. 

Alas for love — a as for the conquest so easily 
achieved ; some chance word unmasks illusion, some 
idle jest dispels a dream. And thus the dream was 
broken ; this fascinating partner, this smooth-tongued 
youth, w T as a sham, an imposter and a cheat ; he was 
no naval officer at all— only their friend; and as far 
as gold lace and brass buttons went, no more entitled 


110 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


to tlieir possession than the veriest stockrider upon her 
father’s estate. 

Let me draw a veil over this awful discovery 
— we will not follow the ensuing scene ; the pro- 
testations of the civilian man who vainly quoted 
that all which glittered, perchance, might not be 
gold, even though it were a button made of brass ; 
or the poor deceived young maiden, who, refusing to 
be comforted, wept bitter tears of mortification at 
having so terribly wasted such a limited time — two 
hours of fleeting joy, whose happiness was built upon 
the sand, in other words a nonentity and a fraud. 

We who live in cities and mix freely with the world, 
cannot really enter into the pathos of this true story, 
or realize all that it may mean ; the long monotonous 
years of station existence, and the one solitary day of 
living life which stands out like a rock upon the sands 
of time, a day to be discussed with never failing inter- 
est, with all its failures, all its triumphs, and the ever 
present humiliation of confessing the mistake of that 
one delightful night ; for to make hay while the sun 
shines, is what we all should do, while to fail in this 
may become a standing reproach all the remainder of 
our lives. 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


Ill 


The above was a long story, but I think by its 
means, I may have been able to bring home to you the 
obscurity and stagnation of life in the bush, enabling 
you to realize something of the effect wrought upon 
the neighborhood of Currendore, by the announcement 
of the picnic of Jim Atkins and liis wife. 

I would you had been there to see the company 
arrive, as one by one they drew up alongside of the 
creek, among a group of trees which stood upon the 
only piece of green grass known for miles around, the 
buggies, the horsemen, and horseladies, — but I sup- 
pose, although you quite understand the expression 
and words were after all but given us to express our 
meaning, and make ourselves understood, I had better 
substitute for the latter, ladies upon horseback. 

How well they rode, these ladies — but how 
astounding appeared their rig to the rather critical 
gaze of the English guests in whose honor the pic- 
nic was held. To them, these long-flowing habits 
appeared strange, and those hats, wonders, whose 
date, as regards fashion, might have been from any 
time before the flood. 

The naval officers did not marvel — they had been 
two years upon this station, a favorite one with the 


112 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


service, and they had become accustomed to all which 
at first had seemed unusual, learning to love every- 
thing which belonged to the people who inhabited the 
country they all now so devotedly adored. 

Australia had risen en masse to open its arms to 
them ; upon them had been showered a hospitality 
surpassing all expectation, wherever they went they 
were welcome, small wonder that their hearts went 
out to their kind entertainers, while their letters home 
strove to explain that they were not living amongst 
savages as their fond mammas had so persistently 
believed, but were, on the contrary, enjoying exist- 
ence in a country which was charming, where they 
revelled in all the luxuries that money could procure, 
and every day in receipt of some fresh kindness 
which could by any possibility be bestowed on peo- 
ple who were visiting a distant land. 

Could those globe-trotters but stay a few weeks 
longer, they too would no more dream of criticising, 
but rather incline to regard whatever they saw as per- 
fect, and whomever they met as charming. 

But all this apropos of habits— and the ladies they 
contained ; but their mention so called to mind many 
a flowing skirt whose occupant I myself have secretly 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


113 


or perhaps openly admired, that I could not restrain 
my pen from giving vent to a few of those remarks, 
such recollections had conjured forth. 

Well, let us return to our picnic. The ladies have 
dismounted, the men are busy taking the horses out of 
the buggies and hitching them upon convenient trees. 

Mrs. Atkins and the other fair equestriennes are 
unpacking the good things which each party has pro- 
vided, and laughter is floating round, rendering those 
ghostly trees yet grimmer by contrast, to the pleasing 
signs of human life beneath their withered forms. 

Some of the party were relating how, on the way 
thither, they had met a solitary emu, and had at once 
given chase — across the plains he flew, or more cor- 
rectly, ran, because an emu does not fly, at least if by 
flying you understand the use of wings, and after him 
as hard as their horses could go, they galloped, till they 
sighted a wire fence; this would stop him, they 
thought, but no, the frightened bird plunged desper- 
ately into the wire. What would he do? Would his 
neck be dislocated, his leg broken, and himself, thus 
disabled, fall an easy prey to his pursuers ? No, neither. 
In another moment the bird was scudding across the 
plains upon the other side,— but in what a plight. 


114 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


It was a bird, it is true, but a plucked one, for, 
alas, its feathers had all remained in the possession of 
the too insinuating wire, while their once happy owner, 
was now disappearing, absolutely unclothed, beyond 
the reach of his pursuers. 

“ Fine feathers make fine birds,” laughed Arthur, 
when the narration of this little anecdote had 
ceased. 

“Yes, it reminds me of Joseph’s coat too,” re- 
marked Danesbury, quietly. 

“ Which one ?” said Porter, anxious to join in the 
discussion, and eager, as usual, to run his head into 
the noose of his friend’s sarcastic tongue. 

“ The one with many colors, of course,” answered 
Cyril, turning away to assist Mrs. Atkins, who was 
saying. 

“ Mr. Danesbury, you are so goodnatured, please 
come and help me cut up this chicken ; I don’t dare 
ask Mr. Porter, he would probably eat it, as he just 
told me he hoped I’d be quick, for he was starving.” 

In a short time the whole party were seated around 
the festive board, or rather cloth, and enjoying food, 
as food can only be enjoyed, in the open air. How 
cheery it was — how hearty the laughter, and how 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


115 


nnartificial the smiles. It was not often all these peo- 
ple met ; their’s was for the most part a life of solitude 
and separation from their kind ; but on occasions such 
as these, they made the most of their opportunity, 
enjoying the pleasure of companionship and good fel- 
lowship to the very full. 

As I said before, we who have everything, we who 
revel in the luxury of society, and are rich in com - 4 
rades, can scarcely realize what these things are to 
those who live beyond the reach of what we daily 
accept without the slightest question. 

As the Englishmen gazed around them at the 
happy, cheerful faces, they could scarcely refrain from 
thinking what a healthful, happy life was this, where 
simple pleasures pleased and trifling jests amused. 

The luncheon over, came smoke for the men, and 
packing up for the ladies, assisted, of course, by the 
more polite, or perhaps, more young of the party. 
And then, as the afternoon heat began to tell, it was 
suggested they should bathe in the creek. Headed by 
Mrs. Atkins, the ladies of the party wandered ofl to a 
secluded spot where they could enjoy the cool waters 
of the little stream ; the men remained behind, some 
busy looking after the horses, and preparing for the 


116 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


future start for home, the others reclining upon their 
backs, equally busy smoking, and digesting their 
recent meal. 

While thus occupied, suddenly shouts arose — cries 
— cries from the ladies in the distance — cries of dis- 
tress. Simultaneously the men sprang to their feet, 
those who were attending to the horses let go of their 
bridles or the pails of water which they were carry- 
ing, and stopped to listen. 

Yes, distinctly they heard “ help, help/* Merci- 
ful heavens, someone was drowning, and with one 
mad rush, the whole party started off in the direction 
of those cries — but what was this ? 

They had not gone far when they perceived 
figures flying in all directions ; if someone was drown- 
ing, why were the others running away from the 
creek? What could this thing mean? Half reas- 
sured, their worst fears not being realized, they 
shouted : “ What is it, what’s the matter?” 

“Go away,” answered a voice, “ go away; leave 
us — oh, go away — oh — oh,” and the figure which gave 
vent to these unintelligible instructions made a dive 
into the neighboring bushes and disappeared. 

“ Oh, help, help,” shouted another. 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


117 


“No, no, go away,” cried a third. Bewildered, 
the men stood still, looking at each other as though to 
demand the key to this mystery. 

“What is it, Mary !” shouted Atkins in stentorian 
tones. “What the devil is the matter?” he roared, 
“ do you want us ?” 

“ Oh, tell them to go away,” beseeched a voice 
from the bushes, but that was all, for a sort of “ oh — 
oh,” seemed to cut short her speech. 

“Yes, Jim, you’d better all go back,” answered 
Mrs. Atkins, from the depths of some sheltering 
scrub, “ it will be all right directly ; we got among the 
leeches, and they got all over us, and when the first 
awful discovery was made, we yelled for help, but 
now that help has come, we think we can manage 
them ourselves, but it’s not a particularly pleasant 
experience,” she laughed, “go back and get something 
ready to revive us on our return.” 

One moment Atkins stood, as though to take in 
what his wife had said, one moment only, and then 
turning to go, he laughed as though his sides would 
break, the others followed suit, till the air around was 
full of as hearty laughter as ever had been listened to 
in that secluded spot. And not alone they laughed, for 


118 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


they were soon joined by little shrill peals from the 
bushes in the distance, intermingled with short, 
exclamatory “ oil’s ” and “ all’s ” of pain or fright. 

When the poor victims reassembled at the 
impromptu camp, they looked rather crestfallen and 
humble, it is true, but bore with great goodnature the 
shower of chaff and commiseration bestowed upon 
them by their more fortunate companions, who had 
been so ready to run to their aid. 

This was the last day that Fraser and Treadwell 
had to spend with their kindly host, and Danesbury 
and Porter were also obliged to return to Sydney on 
the following day. 

Arthur Dacre will ever remember that picnic, and 
he scarcely required the episode of the leeches to 
accentuate this day in his memory ; but he recollected 
it because it was almost the last day of his peaceful 
life in the bush, where he had lived with patience, if 
not content, and in the full enjoyment of bodily 
health. It would not be long ere he would be racked 
with apprehension and tortured with doubt ; his ordin- 
arily trustful mind would be sewn with suspicion, and 
all his notions of friendship and honor shaken to their 
very foundation. 


JIM ATKINS’ PICNIC. 


119 


Yes, he had been living in a fool’s paradise, though 
that paradise had been but a paradise of peace, unre- 
deemed by actual pleasure, and a paradise he prob- 
ably never would appreciate, until it were lost to him 
forever. 

We do not, I fear, sufficiently appreciate the gift 
of physical health, and few of us realize how all that 
we enjoy revolves around this central blessing, until 
that, health has left us and all we once could love 
become both barren and devoid of taste. Thus peace 
and quiet represent a paradise we perhaps may scorn, 
but when these are followed by the inevitable trouble, 
what would we not be giving to return to our former 


state once more. 


120 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE WOOL-SHED. 

“ Where are they now, I wonder, with 
Whom those years were pass’d ? 

The pace was a little too good, I fear, 

For many of them to last ; 

And there’s always plenty to take their piace 
When the leaders begin to decline, 

Still I wish them well where’er they are 
For the sake of ‘ Auld Lang Syne.’ ” — Gordon. 

S HEARING had commenced at Currendore ; the 
wool-shed was full. Some hundred shearers 
were hard at work, intent on earning the liberal wages 
which are to be gained by the skillful at this season of 
the year. But what a motley crew they were, these hun- 
dred men. I doubt if any collection of people taken 
at hazard in any place throughout the world, could 
show a greater mixture of faces or natures than that 
which is to be met with in a wool-shed during shear- 
ing time, upon an Australian station. 

There is the “ old lag,” half of whose life has been 
spent in prison, side by side with the honest work- 
man, who has always lived by legitimate toil ; there 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


121 


is the hardy bushman, rough of speech, and ready of 
tongue ; the new chum, awkward with the shears, but 
anxious to show that people from the old country are 
not ashamed to learn, and determined to prove that 
he is as good as his fellows in the end. 

Hard by is a Chinese pirate, what a face the fellow 
has — what a life he could reveal did he choose ; there 
is the English gentleman side by side with a quondam 
bushranger, who, wearied of horse stealing and the 
“ sticking up ” of banks, or his line of business, per- 
haps, being slack at this time of year, resolves to try 
his hand at honest work. 

The English gentleman, once a refined man, a bril- 
liant talker, and pleasant of speech, looked up to and 
respected by all with whom he came in contact, now 
perhaps the greatest blackguard in all that curious 
throng. 

I speak advisedly, for it is well known that the 
greater the fall, the greater the villain, the higher the 
intellect, the greater the debasement which will fol- 
low, should the unfortunate permit himself to go, and 
allow his surroundings to master him, and draw him 
under to drown. 

It seems hard to realize, but the truth it is, that 
6 


122 


THE WOOL SHED. 


mankind is so weak, educated mankind more especially, 
the very ones who should know better, that its mem- 
bers cannot stand against misfortune, at least not 
unassisted or alone ; they seek the aid of drink, and 
that insidious ally will drag them down, down, surely 
and certainly, till they reach the level of those whom 
they have been accustomed to regard as far beneath, 
and then again they sink still lower, until those, their 
once inferiors, are now whole leagues above them. 

Alas, a gentleman who has “ lapsed ” is oftimes a 
bad specimen of his class. Of course, to their honor 
be it said, some there are who meet their troubles like 
men, and thus “ may rise on stepping stones from 
their dead selves to higher things,” but the majority, 
they do not rise, they sink. 

The above is rather a lengthy digression, but to 
anyone given to moralize, I fear the company to be 
met with in a wool-shed at shearing time presents a 
temptation too potent to resist, and an author often is 
given to moralize ; like the parson in the pulpit, he 
has his audience, he is in possession of the floor, no 
one can say him nay, as he buttonholes the world at 
his leisure, and tries their impatience as he lists. 

Arthur was walking round, watching the men at 


THE WOOL SHED. 


123 


• work, and exchanging words with each one as he 
passed. The scene was a strange one to him, although 
he had witnessed it before, and he could never resist 
turning over in his mind the possible histories of those 
men who composed this curious assemblage ; or specu- 
lating upon the past which each individual might pos- 
sess. According to their faces and expressions, he 
would build up little romances which would have made 
his fortune as a novelist, had he only the ability to 
transmit these thrilling tales to paper ; and yet, thrill- 
ing as he made them, I doubt if they were not oftimes 
far more thrilling in reality than his imagination may 
have pictured them. 

Travelling in foreign lands, one comes across 
things so strange, and occurrences seemingly so 
improbable, that it is difficult to credit the belief of 
one’s own wide-awake senses ; and thus it was that 
Arthur, walking round the wool-shed and watching 
the men catching their sheep, shearing them, and then 
thrusting them through a trap in the side of the wall, 
into their little pens beyond, in the yard outside, came 
across a face which called up memories of the past, 
causing him to stop before it in silent wonder. 

This individual who had attracted his attention 


124 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


was a pale, thin man, with a curious cast of counte- 
nance, for it seemed to preserve a constant sneer. He 
appeared to almost sneer as he succeeded in catching 
the struggling sheep by its hind leg, and dragged it 
captive to the scene of action ; and then he smiled in 
derision as he proceeded to place the animal upon its 
hind quarters, thrust the scared-looking face between 
his legs, and commenced straightway to shear the wool 
from off the poor creature’s heaving breast. When in 
an almost incredibly short time the sheep had been 
denuded of its covering, so short a time, that there 
was ample reason for the various cuts which appeared 
upon its now unprotected skin, the man would sneer 
once more, as he drew open the little trap door and, 
giving the sheep a final push, shove it through to 
increase the score which stood to his name ; and then 
he would glance quickly at the neighboring pens, as 
though to see if his neighbors had made as great 
strides in their work as he had himself, for it is 
according to the number of sheep shorn, that a shearer 
is paid, but the time his mocking smile really 
appeared to advantage was when he gave his latest 
victim its final clip, and then shouted : “Tar.” 

A little boy stood ready with a tar-pot, and that 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


125 


boy’s duty was to dab a brush full of tar upon any 
wound on the sheep’s body, which the shearer might 
have inflicted. 

This is obligatory by law. At the word “ tar, ” 
the boy darted forward and dabbed the sheep, the law 
was satisfied — but not so the sheep ; perhaps the cut 
was on its leg, then most likely the boy would tar its 
tail ; it all depended upon the accuracy of his aim or 
the direction that the urchin’s sweet fancy induced 
his aim to take. And as the tar-brush invariably 
selected a spot at least a foot off the afflicted portion 
of the animal’s body, the sarcastic looking shearer was 
ever able to return to the pen to seize a fresh object 
for his skill, with a smile upon his sneering lips. 

As one fascinated, Arthur stood and watched him. 

Who was he ? Where had he met him before ? 
And as he remained thus, lost to everything which 
was passing around him, his mind all intent upon the 
answer of this self-imposed puzzle, the shearer, as 
though sensible of that concentrated gaze, looked up 
and saw him, then, as he did so, the sneer upon his 
face deepened, and he nodded. Just one little nod of 
recognition, and then went on with his work, as 
though, at that momeut, he had not recognized an old 


126 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


acquaintance, one who had known him in better and 
happier days. 

This was the irony of it, apparently, which amused 
him, causing that sarcastic smile to play upon his lips. 
The contrast between their last meeting and the pres- 
ent moment, when each exile recognized in the other 
a familiar face. 

Arthur nodded in answer, and then turned on his 
heel to resume his duty of walking round the shed and 
superintend the shearers at their work, but it was not 
with the light heart he had possessed but a few short 
moments before ; then, he was almost happy, at any 
rate tolerably content — he was living in the present 
which was not such an uncongenial one after all, — 
now a spectre had risen from the past, and from the 
realities of the present, he had to return in thought 
to the scene of his former follies, and that one crown- 
ing scene of his final defeat. 

“ Yes, it must be he,” he thought to himself, while 
walking abstractedly round the shed, “ it’s that French 
chap who stopped playing because he had the deveine 
and chaffed me because I had such an English tenacity 
of purpose, which induced me to plunge to get home. 
That’s him, of course. Daurent was his name, Jules 


THE WOOL-SHED. 


127 


Daurent, if I remember rightly, one of Joe’s French 
pals. Poor devil, he must have come to utter grief, 
then, to be out here shearing sheep, and his grief can 
not have been of very recent date either, I should 
fancy, judging by the way he is shearing the sheep, 
for a man doesn’t learn that sort of a job in a day. 
Ah, me, it seems as if a judgment had fallen upon 
those who partook of poor old Joe’s hospitality — those 
cheery little dinners, which appeared so bright and 
harmless, have been productive of much misfortune. I 
wonder if there are any more of those who were 
amongst his guests, now wandering about the world. 
Poor old Joe, too, the kindest-hearted chap I ever 
met, and a fellow who only allowed gambling in his 
rooms under protest, as it were, because he was too 
good-natured to stop it ; to think that he should 
be the unconscious cause of so much misery. Heigh 
ho — what a funny world it is,” and Arthur 
sighed at the conclusion of this long reverie; but 
it was no good sighing, and no good cogitating or 
soliloquizing, though his soliloquy was only carried on 
by an inner voice. So he shook himself and did his 
best to get rid of the train of thought, this sudden 
rencontre had called forth. 


128 


THE WOOL-SHED. . 


However, he could not quite get the sight of Dau- 
rent out of his head. You may banisli a thought 
from your mind — you may determine never to allow 
it to come before you again, but the thought smiles at 
you and returns to flaunt itself before your eyes, heed- 
less of resolutions, regardless of will ; so it was not 
many moments before Arthur found himself once 
again watching Daurent with renewed interest, noting 
the rapid way in which he worked, and wondering at 
the quaint sneer about his lips, which seemed to 
betoken a real delight in the discomfiture of those 
great silly sheep by whom he was surrounded, and 
altogether going through his task, as though the whole 
thing were one long, grim joke. 

“ Come over and see me,” he said presently, “ I 
should be glad to have a little talk with you.” 

“ All right,” answered the shearer without looking 
up, adding, “ where do you live?” as he took the 
sheep by the two fore legs, and plumped it upon the 
floor. 

“At the back station,” answered Arthur. 

“ What time ?” queried the other, thrusting the 
wretched animal’s wriggling head behind him, and 
holding it in a vice by the grip of his knees, “ will 


“ THE NEXT MERRY MEETING/ 


129 


nine do?” giving the wool the first clip with his 
shears. 

“ Yes, that’s right, nine,” said Arthur, and then he 
left him ; while M. Jules Daurent continued to shear the 
wool from off those sheep, as if he had been to the 
manner born, whistling as he did so, as though he had 
never led a happier life than this. 

Perhaps he never had, but quite certain it is, that 
he had never led such an honest one, nor had he ever 
earned so much money by good, sound toil, as he was 
at this moment in a fair way to do. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.” 

“For nothing on earth is sadder 

Than the dream that cheated the grasp, 

The flower that turned to the adder 

The fruit that changed to the asp.”— Gordon. 

“ IT down, will you,” said Arthur, a few hours 
later, as the Frenchman entered his dwelling 
— he did not offer to shake hands with him, why, he 
could not have explained ; it was certainly not because 
he was only a common working-man, wearing a corn- 
6 * 


130 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


raon working dress, for Arthur was no snob, and to him 
one man was as good as any other, if he lived an hon- 
est life and were earning his living by good, sound 
labor. 

But there was some indefinable feeling against this 
man, and he could never bring himself to give his 
hand to a person whom he did not feel, at a glance, he 
could either like or respect. 

So far, regarding his present visitor, he did neither, 
he could not well like a man whom he had only met a 
few times, and those times at a gambling table ; a man, 
too, who never played for more than ten minutes if he 
lost, though he would continue till daylight if he won. 
And he could scarcely feel much respect for him, see- 
ing that he knew little or nothing about him, with one 
trifling exception, that his skill as an ecarte player was 
great, as he had on more than one occasion proved, 
rather to his own satisfaction than that of his 
friends. 

“ This is a funny place to meet in,” said the host, 
offering his tobacco pouch to his visitor. 

“ Yes, ma foi ,” was the reply, “ but how is it you 
are here — broke, eh V J 

u Yes, I lost pretty heavily the last time we met, 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


131 


and that finished me. I have been here some time 
now.” 

“ How much did you lose that night ?” asked the 
sheepshearer indifferently. 

“ About £15,000.” 

“ Mon Dieu” ejaculated his questioner, “ who won 
it? The Count, I suppose — Darvell didn’t of 
course.” 

“ As you say, the count won most of it, but why 
shouldn’t Darvell have won also?” 

“ Oh, he always had such bad luck, poor devil,” 
explained Daurent, with his sarcastic smile. 

“ Yes, he always had, I remember,” said Arthur, 
thoughtfully — “poor old Joe.” 

“Poor old Joe”, echoed Daurent, the sneer deep- 
ening upon his face till his expression was more than 
forbidding. “Yes, poor, poor Joe — poor, poor, 
Count — happy, happy Mr. Dacre, who can sit here 
and pity them.” 

“ What on earth do you mean ?” queried Arthur, 
sharply. “ Why shouldn’t I say poor Joe ? Darvell 
was a friend of mine, but, you misunderstood me, too, 
for I never pitied the Count — why should I ? I 


132 


THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


only met him in Darvell’s rooms, otherwise I scarcely 
knew him.” 

“ Exactly,” continued his guest, calmly puffing 
away at his pipe “ as you say, you scarcely knew him.” 

There was a pause, during which Arthur sat eye- 
ing his companion rather curiously, but that indivi- 
dual leant back in his chair, his legs outstretched, evi- 
dently quite enjoying the comfort of his position, 
and the luxury of his smoke ; and also it seemed to 
Arthur that he was enjoying something else, as 
though lie had a joke all to himself, something he 
only half wished to conceal. The sneer upon his 
face had partially died out, bnt there was a look very 
like a broad grin upon his countenance, as he lay 
watching the smoke curl upwards towards the raft- 
ered ceiling. 

“ Queer fish ” thought Arthur, “ I wonder what 
lie’s thinking of.” But he had not very long to 
wait, for, suddenly taking the pipe from his mouth 
and sitting upright in his chair, Daurent, looking 
straight into the face of his host, said : 

“ I wonder you are so contented to sit here, and 
say that you know so little of Mons. Le Comte de 
Deauville.” 


THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


133 


“ Why ”, asked Arthur, “ why on earth should I 
want to improve my acquaintance with that gentle- 
man ?” 

16 And yet it might be useful to you.” 

“ Useful to me ? I fail to see how, unless I could 
win some of my money back from him.” 

“ Or he yours.” 

“ Yes, that would be the most probable,” assented 
Arthur. 

“ But did it never occur to you that you might 
possibly get your money back without touching a 
card ?” continued the Frenchman. 

“ Without touching a card ? What do you mean — 
don’t speak in riddles, man, out with it; if you’ve got 
anything to say to me, some plan to propose, for 
goodness sake don’t beat about the bush like that.” 

“ There’s such a thing as restitution,” answered 
the other, quite unmoved by this impatience. 

“ Restitution?” 

“ Yes, threats — fear of exposure — demand for 
money — penitence — restitution — all-live-happily ever- 
after-kind of thing — comprenez?” 

“ Well, no, not exactly,” answered Arthur, look- 
ing about as puzzled as a man could appear, “ but I 


134 


“ THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


wish to Heaven you’d explain yourself, and stop all 
this mystery.” 

“ Mr. Dacre,” answered the man, replacing the 
pipe in his mouth, “ it is true that I have something 
to tell you, but you must allow me to tell it in my 
own way. I cannot be hurried or dictated to, as to 
my manner of telling it. I have come here for no 
other purpose than to tell it you ; you can imagine 
that it is not too agreeable for me, in my position,” 
looking down at his dirty and blood-stained clothes — 
“ to encounter people who knew me in former days.” 
And here his habitual sneer appeared to reassert itself 
as the predominant feature on his face. “ And yet, 
though you would scarcely believe it, I came here to 
do a good turn — to tell you something for your advan- 
tage — why ?” (as though addressing himself) — “ be- 
cause, though we met so seldom, I liked you, and I 
admired the way in which you went under on that 
last night I saw you. Grand Dieu, sir, you are a 
sportsman — it was splendid, and hardened villains as 
we all were, we couldn’t help our admiration; one 
would really have thought that you enjoyed losing, 
and, thinking of this when we met to-day, I made up 
my mind to seek you out ; I am here — and even then, 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


135 


I wavered in my resolution, you appeared so happy, so 
content, that I could not help saying to myself — for- 
give the thought — that, since like an ass, you had lain 
down to bear your burden, why should I disturb you ; 
but when you pitied them, those robbers, those vil- 
lains — those devils — ” (and here his voice almost 
reached a shriek) “ I could bear it no longer ; I said, 
I will tell him, et y Mon Dieu^je vous le dirai , mafoi , 
vous entendrez la verite , mieux tard que jamais” con- 
cluded Daurent, in his excitement bursting into his 
native tongue. 

As for Arthur, during this long harangue, he sat 
silent, he knew not what to think. This man was not 
hoaxing him, his words were earnest, his manner, 
though excited, was truthful, besides which, what 
possible object could he have in coming here to tell 
him a pack of lies. What did the fellow mean ? 
“ Those villains — hardened villains,” he had said, and 
now — “ those robbers — those devils.” 

Good God, what did he mean ? and rising from his 
chair, and crossing the room, Arthur stood right in front 
of his strange guest, and seizing him by the shoulder, 
cried, “ Speak, man, speak ; have done with all this 
innuendo, I will hear, — I insist upon hearing all.” 


136 


THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


Shaking himself free from his grasp, the wiry 
Frenchman, now also standing, retreated towards the 
door. 

“ Monsieur Dacre,” he said u calm yourself. 
What I have to tell you requires a cool head and a 
tranquil mind. You bore your reverses like a man — 
more — like a sportsman ; resume your seat, sir, and 
hear the history, Vhistoire crese corsa veritable , of 
your misfortunes, with an equal amount of composure, 
“ but first,” he went on, as Arthur, calming himself 
with an effort, returned to resume his seat, “ first, do 
you recollect how, on that night as you left the room, 
I drank to our next merry meeting 2” 

Impatiently Arthur nodded. 

“ This, then, is our next merry meeting; let us 
drink,” and solemnly Daurent lifted the glass to his 
lips. “Now,” he said, pouring himself out a fresh 
allowance of brandy, 44 Monsieur le Comte joined me 
in that toast ; take youi* glass, Mr. Dacre, and now 
join me in drinking to your next merry meeting with 
that same Monsieur le Comte de Deauville, for when- 
ever that may be, in whatever quarter of the globe he 
may be found, that day will be for you a merry one 
indeed. Here goes,” — he cried, clinking his glass 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.” 


137 


against that of his host, ‘ ‘ mm la verite” and then drain- 
ing it at a swallow, the excitable man seemed to grow 
quiet, and in answer to the look of impatience upon 
the face of his host, resumed his seat, then waving his 
hand in a theatrical manner, began — “ That which 
I have to tell you, my dear sir is strange — truth, as you 
know, being stranger, far stranger, than fiction— it 
also may lie in the shell of a nut, but, oh, that nut is 
hard to crack, and you did not crack it — it rather 
cracked you,” he added, sneering anew at the picture 
conjured by his words. 

“Supplement, broke, for cracked,” put in Arthur, 
removing his pipe from his mouth to give vent to 
this remark. 

“Ha, ha, very good,” laughed Daurent, rubbing his 
hands, “ broke, ha, ha, but we’ll mend you, mon cher , 
never fear. In this nutshell then lie two people — Mr. 
Joseph Darvell and Monsieur le Comte de Deauville — 
the former is the biggest scoundrel in England, the 
latter the greatest blackguard in France.” And saying 
this Daurent leant back in his chair, the better to con- 
template his companion, and observe how he would 
receive this astounding statement. 

“Impossible,” was all that Arthur said; then 


138 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.” 


slowly, “ Mr. Daurent, you are abusing my hospitality, 
you have come here as a guest, and taken advan- 
tage of your visit to malign one of my very greatest 
friends. Monsieur de Deauville I give over to the 
tender mercies of your tongue, and congratulate you 
upon your apparent intimacy with a gentleman so 
distinguished ; but excuse me if I absolutely refuse 
to hear one single syllable against my friend, Mr. 
Joseph Darvell.” 

And Arthur, with that dignity of manner he knew 
so well how to assume, and which looked odd and out 
of place in that little log hut, wherein he sat, crossed 
his leg? and threw himself back in his chair, with the 
look of a man who means what he says, and intends, 
also, that other people should understand it too. 

But Daurent was not to be so easily repressed ; all 
his assumed levity of manner had now left him, and 
in its place he seemed to don an earnestness which 
carried conviction as he spoke, more real, than even 
the words themselves conveyed. 

“ Mr. Dacre ” he said “ do not deceive yourself ; 
this thing is true. Reflect for one moment on what 
possible good it would be for me, a poor sheep-shearer, 
to come here to you for the sake of maligning your 


“ THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.” 139 

friend. Far rather would I have sat here and spoken 
to you of pleasant things in return for your hospital- 
ity. Can it be a pleasure for me, think you, to make 
myself seem an unwelcome visitor ? No, you must see 
that cannot be ; but I have a duty to perform — that 
duty I began, and I will finish it. You are not the 
first man who has been deceived by his freinds, and if 
you will only think a little while you will perceive 
that what I have told you cannot be so improbable, 
after all. What did you know of Deauville ? What 
did you know of me, and others whom you had never 
met, except at the rooms of your friend f” Daurent 
seemed to revel in that word “friend,” and rolled it 
round in his mouth as though it were some choice 
morsel, till reluctantly he sent it forth from between 
his lips with a kind of hiss. The sneer on his face as 
he did so, you can picture for yourself. 

“ There was a firm of swindlers,” he went on, “it 
was as much a firm as any house of commerce ; there 
were papers and deeds of partnership all drawn up in 
form, attested and signed. The chief people, the head 
partners in this concern, which, mind you, was no 
light, miserable affair, but a real gigantic business, 
with branches in every city on the continent, were, as I 


140 


THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


have said Joseph Darvell, Esq. of Mount Street, Lon- 
don, and Monsieur Le Comte de Deauville, of Pans.” 

“ Great heavens !” exclaimed Arthur, half dazed at 
what he had heard ; the man’s manner convinced him, 
there seemed no longer room for doubt. u And you \ 
he said at length. • 

“Oh, me,” replied the other with a sneer, “I 
wasn’t a partner — I was only one of the gang quite 
an inferior and unimportant individual. I was not 
allowed a very grand role. Do you remember that 
night how I stopped playing because 1 had the 
deveine f ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“Well, that was my role, my role was to play 
square,” and here the Frenchman laughed. “ A good 
honest role, was it not, but a trifle dull, you know ; 
I had to stop if I lost, and then chaff fellows, as 1 did 
you, about their reckless plunging. Try to stop a 
plunger, and he always goes ahead all the faster, you 
know,” smiled the speaker, “ and if 1 won, I had to 
back my luck, and win everything I could — all open 
and honest, you see, but I came to grief.” 

“How?” asked Arthur, rather absently, for he was 
thinking of the facts which had just been repeated to 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.’ 


141 


him, and the fate of the man who had told him these 
things scarcely interested him at all. 

“ I got the sack for breaking the rules. It was so 
dull one night, playing square, that when I lost, and 
knew my evening’s amusement was over, and that, 
according to engagement, I ought to stop, I casually 
corrected fortune, and went on with the game as 
though I were in reality in great luck, and I won a 
pot of money.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ Well, your friend Darvell, whom nothing escaped ; 
you see, he plays so little himself, and onlookers, we 
know, see much — saw at once what I had done. He 
said nothing at the time, of Course, but in the morning 
there were des contes d regler ; he sent for me, and 
there, like a criminal, I stood before those two power- 
ful kings, Deauville and Darvell. . They judged me — 
delivered their verdict, and passed sentence. The ver- 
dict was, guilty ; the sentence was that I should be 
given a sum of money and expelled from the firm. I 
protested, and taking a high tone, declared I would 
split and blow the whole concern. 

They laughed. “ Try,” said Darvell, in the coolest 
tone imaginable, “ to begin with, do you think anyone 


142 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


would believe your word against facts ; secondly, you 
may perhaps not recollect the nature of the oath which 
each member of this society takes before he is per- 
mitted to join.” 

“ I do,” I faltered. 

“Well, for your own sake, beware,” he added, as 
he gave me a roll of notes and showed me the door. 
Those notes I have spent, and — I am here.” 

“ And the oath — what is it?” asked Arthur. 

“ I agree to abide by the drawing of lots when it 
is necessary, that by our hands one of our number 
should die. If that lot falls upon me, I will do 
my duty faithfully and well ; should I fail to carry 
out that duty, I acknowledge the justice of the sen- 
tence which shall pronounce my doom,” quoted Dan- 
rent, in quavering tones, and his face suddenly grew 
scared, and he turned as pale as death. 

“ And now,” said Arthur, “you — ” 

“ Yes,” broke in the man he addressed, speaking 
solemnly, “ now do you believe me ? In telling you 
this, I stand in danger of sudden death ; even here I 
am not safe,” he added, looking fearfully around him, 
“ for all those who have tried to become traitors are 
dead.” 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


143 


“ Oh, well, no one can harm yon in this place,” 
laughed Arthur, cheerily, as though to reassure him, 
“ so you’re all right here ; but come, tell me, if you 
are unable to let light in upon the doings of those men, 
how can I, a wretched pauper, who hasn’t even money 
enough for a journey to England and back ?” 

“ Those papers,” said Dauren 

“ Well ?” 

“ They exist ; Deauville has quarrelled with Dar- 
vell ; he disappeared, he took those papers with him, 
and though Darvell moved heaven and earth to regain 
their possession, till this moment all his efforts have 
failed.” 

“ How do you know that?” queried Arthur, quickly. 

“ On me Va dit ,” was the oracular answer. 

“ How am I to find him, and if I find him, how can 
I persuade him to give those papers to me ?” sighed 
Arthur, speaking more to himself than to his compan- 
ion. 

“ Qa dest votre affaire ,” answered Daurent. 

“ Well, I don’t see the use of bothering about it, 
after all,” continued our hero, “they wouldn’t give 
me the money back even if 1 threatened them with 
exposure : and besides, they are, if you "are to be 


144 


THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


believed,” — be added, unconscious of the insult con- 
tained in his words, at which Daurent bowed, ironi- 
cally, — “ they are unscrupulous men, and would prob- 
ably kill me if I gave them reason to imagine I was 
in possession of their secret.” 

At this, Daurent sneered his very worst, or per- 
haps his very best. 

“ Ah, if you are afraid,” he said, “ but I thought 
there was a lady in the case, that is why you had to 
go — at least, that is what I heard Darvell say, when 
he explained the last campaign to the Count, but, on 
change , perhaps you do not care now, and as you say, 
there is danger — ” 

“ By heavens, what is it you are saying, man,” yell- 
ed Arthur, springing to his feet, “ ye gods, do I hear 
aright? It was planned— plotted ; he robbed me not 
only of my money, which was but a means, to an end 
— and that end — my love, iny Edith, and 7, I, fool, 
idiot that I was, / played into his hands and offered 
her to him myself ; oh, my God, wliat did I do ? — and 
you — ” he went on, seizing the astonished Frenchman 
by the throat, “ dog of a blackleg, you dare say that I 
am afraid — you dare taunt me with your vile words.” 

“ Monsieur,” replied Daurent, as well as Arthur’s 


‘ THE NEXT MERRY MEETING . 1 


145 


fierce grip would allow, but otherwise in the cool 
mocking tones so customary to his tongne, “ if you 
continue to attack me — a man weaker than yourself — 
now absolutely at your mercy — perhaps I ought to 
withdraw my insinuation of cowardice ; for Monsieur 
I can feel in my own person that you have courage, 
etje vous en fais mes compliments” 

“ True,” said Arthur, relaxing his hold, and thrust- 
ing him from him with such violence that the French- 
man fell right backward into his chair, which he man- 
aged to effect with a certain grace, immediately cross- 
ing his legs, and folding his arms, as though to prove 
to himself that he was thus seated of his own free will. 
“ I beg your pardon, Daurent, but your words, they 
maddened me, and I forgot myself. To think that 
they should have taken me in like that,” he went on, 
more to himself than his listener, “ me , why, I prided 
myself upon my knowledge of the world, and the 
astuteness of my observation, and they took me in, 
and fooled me to the top of my bent.” 

“ Yes,” sneered the other, “it was just those peo- 
ple, one of whom you describe yourself to be, who 
were selected as our victims. Darvell flew for high 
game ; he said it was safer ; to fleece a pigeon was no 
7 


146 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


part of his scheme — such action might have provoked 
remark ; to ruin the sharpest men about town was not 
likely to excite comment, the victim would not be 
very anxious to proclaim that he had been rooked, 
and if he did, people would most probably only have 
smiled while they murmured something kind about 
‘ the biter bit.’ ” 

“ By Jove, they almost deserved to prosper.’’ 

“And they had their deserts,” put in Daurent. 

“ Where is Deauville ?” exclaimed Arthur. 

“ I don’t know; Paris or Yienna, most probably.” 

“You said he had disappeared.” 

“For the time he had, but I fancy he was only 
hiding away from his ‘ friend,’ and again Daurent 
mouthed the word as though he loved its sound. 
“He’ll turn up again, never fear; I heard, though, 
that he had got mixed up with a pretty notorious lady 
in Paris ; if that is true, his fall will not be far 
off ; if she is as clever, as she is painted, ha, ha, she’ll 
soon unearth the secret of his wealth, and then good- 
bye to his prosperity ; she will accept the golden eggs 
as long as it suits her purpose, and then dispose of the 
goose, when wearied of his attentions — a secret shared, 
with a woman, is a secret spread abroad.” 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.’ 


147 


“ Why did lie quarrel with Darvell ?” 
u Ah, there is the joke of the thing,” replied Dau- 
rent, with one of his diabolical sneers, “ it was 
apropos of Miss Edith Munroe. One of the rules our 
chiefs laid down for themselves was, that neither 
should marry, both being aware of the danger of such 
a course. Oh, they’re insinuating little devils, the 
women are,” he sneered, “and when it transpired that 
Darvell had ideas matrimonial in his head, Deauville 
requested him to give them up ; he refused, and it 
resulted in a row, and now,” laughed the speaker, “ he 
himself is in the toils. Ah, fate is most ironical, but 
Deauville would possibly not be unwilling to capsize 
some of Darvell’s cherished dreams, and how could he 
annoy him more than by working through you, his 
former rival in the affections of his fair ?” 

“ I’ll find Deauville,” said Arthur’ after a pause, — 
“ and then, then, I’ll kill Darvell.” 

“ Mais oui” sneered the other, sending a puff of 
smoke flying across the room, “ then you’ll hang 
happy, — delightful prospect.” 

“ I don’t care if I do hang,” cried Arthur, fiercely, 
“ why should I — what have I to live for except 
vengeance ?” 


148 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING. 


“ Ah, mon cher , — and the lady? Forgotten her 
already ?” 

“Stop that mocking tone,” he answered, “of 
course I have not forgotten her, but she is probably 
married.” 

“ Could she not be unmarried ?” 

“ How do you mean ?” 

“The divorce — but of what am I speaking, for if 
she is a widow, she does not want a divorce, since if 
she is a widow, she can marry ; no, pardon, I forgot 
she cannot marry you if you hang ; I think the 
divorce will be the best after all, rtest ce pas f” 

“ Daurent, I believe you are the devil.” 

“ Merci monsieur — ” 

“ But why should she divorce Darvell ?” began 
Arthur again. 

“Ladies are often very willing to divorce a convict 
when they can find reasons for so doing.” 

“ Reasons — what reasons? Do you know of any ?” 

“ Me f no mon Dieu , but I doubt not but that 
these will not be hard to find ; there is such a thing 
as cruelty and — ” 

“ Cruelty — oh, my God — cruelty, ah, if he were 
cruel to her, if he dared ill-use her, Pd kill him, yes, 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.” 149 

my God, I’d kill him,” hissed Arthur through his 
clenched teeth, striking his fist upon the table. 

“ And hang,” put in Daurent, “ really, Mr. Dacre, 
you seem always to forget that little apres. No, you’ll 
find it better to take my advice and arrange the pro- 
gramme thus. Deauville, papers, conviction, divorce, 
marriage ; it sounds better without the hanging you 
see.” 

“ Perhaps she isn’t married even yet,” said Arthur, 
a sudden thought striking him. 

“Perhaps not,” said Daurent, rising, “so do not 
jump to conclusions. Now, Mr. Dacre, as you know 
I have to be up pretty early in the morning, and I 
have also had a hard day’s work, therefore, with your 
permission, I will say good night. I came here to 
tell you the truth and I have done so ; may it benefit 
you. And I trust that my share of the wrong once 
done you, may be wiped out by this act of reparation, 
tardy though it be, the only one 1 can offer. I will 
not ask you to shake hands with me, but good-night, 
think over what I have said, do nothing rashly, and 
remember to keep the secret of whence your informa- 
tion came, for my life is in your hands.” 

“ Drurent,” said Arthur, “ here is my hand ; I 


150 


“THE NEXT MERRY MEETING.’ 


thank you for your confession, I believe you meant 
well, and I trust you will pardon the impatience I 
may have shown during the interview ; it is hard to 
have the beliefs of a lifetime uprooted in an hour ; 
the sacred name of friendship shattered and in pieces — 
if my best friend were so base, whom, then, can I 
trust? Your secret is safe with me — I will think be- 
fore I act, to night I cannot think : my head is swim- 
ming with the revelation you have made me. 
Good-night, I forgive the wrong you did me, and, 
thank you for this, your reparation.” 

In silence the Frenchman took his hand ; for one 
moment the sneer seemed to leave his lips, while a 
look of real feeling took its place. Arthur’s noble con- 
duct touched him — he, outcast that he was, had met 
with kindness ; he, the mocker, the disbeliever in all 
that was good and true, was now obliged to acknowl- 
edge the power of a kindly word, and the magic of an 
honest voice. 

“ Bonne chance,” he said, in an earnest tone, as he 
vanished into the darkness. 

“ Amen,” replied Arthur, as he closed the door of 
his solitary house. 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


151 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


“ But I’ve eat my cake, so I can’t complain, 
And I’ve only myself to blame, 

Ah, that was always their tune at home, 
And here it is just the same; 

Of the seed I’ve sown in pleasure, 

The harvest I’m reaping in pain ; 

Could I put my life a few years back, 
Would I live, that life again? 

“ Would I ? of course, I would ! 

What glorious days they were ! 

It sometimes seems the dream of a dream, 
That life could have been so fair; 

A sweet, but if a short time back, 

While now if one can call 
This life, I almost doubt at times, 

If its worth the living at all.” — G ordon. 



EFT alone, Arthur repeated himself, his head 


1 J was in a whirl ; what he had heard almost pre- 
cluded the possibility of thought. 

Only one idea stood out clear before him, and that 
was that he had been duped. He, Arthur I)acre, in 
whom he had been accustomed to believe as tolerably 
infallible, had been made a fool of 3 he, who had 


152 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


always prided himself upon his knowledge of character, 
and observation of the ways of men, had taken to him- 
self, as his bosom friend, a swindler and a thief. Nay, 
more, he had defended him as one friend would defend 
another, and also offered up on the altar of that friend- 
ship, his own love as a sacrifice. 

He, coward that he was, had given up his love at 
the first taste of misfortuue, and offered her to another. 
Poor fool, he had thought that, in so doing, he was 
acting in a truly noble manner, and proving the 
unselfishness of his character; he had revelled, per- 
haps, in the magnanimity of this action which was 
intent on ignoring his own happiness, the better to 
promote the felicity of two other people, and how had 
such smug self-satisfaction ended ? 

Why — and here, in the midst of his cogitation, lie 
laughed, a little, hard laugh — ended — in the misery of 
himself, the ruin of his love, and the triumph of his 
enemy. 

Yes, his enemy, his one-time freind was now his 
enemy ; he had betrayed his trust ; he had deliberately 
laid himself out to entrap him ; by specious acts and 
plausible words he had won his confidence, and by 
flattering his vanity and ministering to his folly, 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


153 


endeavored to gain access to the best freindship of 
which he was capable ; and, by heavens ! he had suc- 
ceeded ; this plausible swindler had marked him out 
for destruction, then planned his ruin in the most cal- 
culating manner imaginable, finally achieving his 
object through the means of conduct, beside which 
that of the arch traitor Judas seemed honest by com- 
parison. 

“ But I’ll be revenged ” he exclaimed aloud, start- 
ing to his feet, “ I will not sit here and tamely suffer, 
while they are reaping the advantages provided by my 
innocent, unsuspecting nature,” — and the sneer with 
which he said this, would have done credit to Daurent 
himself. 

“ They stole my money, fooled me to the top of 
my bent, and then robbed me of my Edith. My eyes 
are opened now, I will show them that I am not the 
poor blind, idiot, for which they took me. I am an ass 
who lies down to bear his burden, Daurent said, am I ? 
— well, we shall see,” and thus muttering to himself, 
Arthur, still boiling with indignation and absolutely 
brimming with resolutions, betook himself to his bed, 
there to forget for a time, if he were able, the curious 

turn of events which had come upon him, consequent 
7 * 


154 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


from his strange meeting with the broken-down gam- 

I 

biers hearer, Daurent. 

“The next morning, however he had slept, his 
resolutions had borne fruit, and, after riding over to 
the head station to say farewell for a time to 
Atkins and his wife, without explaining to them the 
exact reasons for his temporary absence, he returned 
home ; and the following morning saw him en route 
to Sydney. 

What he would do there, was as yet, almost un. 
known to himself. All he felt was that inaction, 
in his present frame of mind, was impossible, he must 
be up and doing, and a journey towards Sydney and 
civilization was the first step towards action. There 
he could better make up his mind what he would do. 

One thing was clear and that was, he must find 
Deauville ; but another thing was even clearer still, 
Deauville could not be found without money. What 
then was to be done? He had £150 in cash, and 
that was all. How far would that go towards pros- 
ecuting a search, such as he proposed? Why, no 
where at all. There was one way of getting at the 
truth, perhaps, and a cheap one too; write to Darvell 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


155 


and tax him with his infamy and deceit — but what 
was the good of that ? 

No, one man’s word is as good as another’s, or 
rather better indeed, if the word against which you 
pit your veracity is in the mouth of a very rich man. 
So the only course open to him was to find Deauville ; 
if this man were bitter against his quondam partner, 
he might perhaps be persuaded to offer assistance and 
provide such proofs as might tell against his friend. 

If, on the other hand, he were in any sort of diffi- 
culty or distress, and seeing the volcano on which he 
lived, such was not improbable, he might be in- 
duced to part with his information for the sake of 
reward. 

But whatever way the end might be ultimately 
obtained, Arthur felt convinced that it could only 
be approached in one manner — and that was the find- 
ing of Deauville. To find Deauville, as I said before, 
required money. Now money does not grow by the 
wayside, nor does it drop into the pockets of a man 
who desires it, even if that individual is anxious for 
its acquisition, solely as a means to a very excel- 
lent end. 

And thus, when Arthur came to the conclusion 


156 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


that lie required money, he naturally began to ask 
himself whence should this money arrive? 

In the olden days, when short of “ ready,” he was 
never at a loss, the card table could so easily supply 
his wants ; if he won, there he was, his pockets full of 
gold and change, and its pleasant rattle proved to him 
how easily it had arrived ; and if, on the other hand, 
he lost, and was consequently obliged to raise a large 
sum for the meeting of his engagements, to obtain a 
hundred or two over and above what he wanted was 
no very difficult matter, and then, his losses paid, he 
had still many loose sovereigns wherewith to provide 
for his immediate wants. 

But now these methods were closed to him, if he 
played and won, it would be all very well — but if he 
played and lost? — no, he couldn’t, for he had no 
money to lose, besides which, however willing he were 
to put his all upon the hazard of a card, he could not 
do so ; in common honesty he was unable to bring 
himself to do that. 

One of the last promises he had made before leav- 
ing England was, that he would never touch a card. 

Ho, he could not break that promise ; till now he 
had had no temptation. 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY 


157 


A man who lives alone in the bush has no very 
great difficulty in refraining from indulging in a vice 
of this sort. Now was the first temptation. Should 
he give way, and fall at the very sound of that temp- 
ter’s voice ? 

No — never ; true it was, to Edith he had made this 
promise, and it was for the sake of benefiting Edith — 
and himself — that he now desired to break that promise. 

Would not the end justify the means? Here ho 
had a long period of thought, and at the end of it, 
honorable as he was, decided in the negative — no, a 
promise was sacred, he would not break it. 

This thought of gaining the money by gambling 
thus dismissed, as the train rattled him on to Sydney, 
Arthur set his mind to work to think again. 

How could this money be procured ? A thousand 
pounds, at least, was necessary, before he could begin 
the work of vengeance — and here he clenched his 
teeth and looked out of the window at the fast flying 
spectres of those withered gum-trees. 

But was there no other way ? Then there came 
before him, as there has at times to all of us, the most 
fantastic dreams and castles built in Spain ; improbable 
fancies and impossible unrealities — wealth dropping 


158 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


from the skies — old gentlemen drowning in the sea 
with their last will and testament in their poor 
clenched fingers, fingers which waited to sign that 
precious document in favor of the first hero who 
should offer to pull them out of their unpleasant posi- 
tion, when the rescued millionaire would considerately 
decease upon the sand before that ink were dry — or 
equally chimeric old ladies, whose hearts and wills 
might be affected by the opening of a pew door in 
church, or the ringing of a bell in the street — packets 
of gold lying unclaimed upon the floor — buried treas- 
ure in the bush, hidden there by some bushranger in 
the olden times — gold mines, as full of nuggets as a 
cherry tart of cherries — or anonymous letters — which 
tell of a fortune, to be found lying upon our plate at 
breakfast time. 

All these pictures and many more, came crowding 
upon poor Arthur’s brain, but after having indulged 
himself thus for the space of twenty minutes, or 
rather while the train went flying past the space of 
many miles, he dismissed all such nonsense with an 
impatient “ bah,” and returned anew to the solving of 
the riddle. 

He was as far off this as ever, when suddeniy the 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


159 


train drew up at some tiny station in the bush, and 
his eyes, wandering unconsciously over the various 
advertisements exposed to view, lit upon one which 
set forth in glowing terms, the programme for the 
Woliunga races which were to take place during that 
very week. 

“I have it,” he exclaimed, almost aloud, “I have 
it. By Jove, what a fool I was not to think of it 
before ; I’ll win it racing.” He said this as though 
the point were settled — the money in his pocket — and 
it was not until the train was some way on its journey 
after leaving the station where this road to fortune 
had stared him in the face, that he began to perceive 
that there might possibly be some flaw in this very 
simple arrangement. 

Why should he win just because he desired it ? 
Previous experience should have tanght him that the 
more indifferent he was to gain at a race-meeting, the 
easier did it seem to back the winners, and in propor- 
tion to this not too great eagerness for luck, if he had 
ever gone to a race-meeting with the avowed purpose 
of making coin, so much more certain would be the 
disaster which invariably ensued. 

Then, to add to these unsatisfactory reflections 


160 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 


there came the thought that racing was gambling, and 
should he bet, though perhaps keeping his promise in 
the letter, he might be breaking it in the spirit. 

“ Oh, dash it all,” he answered to himself at this 
wave of self-reproach, “ one can’t split hairs like that. 
I said I wouldn’t gamble — no more I will — I won’t 
touch a card ; but if I go to the races ” — and here he 
grinned, “ there’s no saying I won’t perhaps touch 
a pencil, or if luck will have it, touch a winner,” and 
thinking thus, Arthur leant back in the well cushioned 
carriage, with the air of a man who has solved a prob- 
lem, and by such solution surmounted a hitherto un- 
surmountable difficulty. 

It is so very easy to think, and work out that 
thought to exactly suit one’s self — the hard thing is to 
refrain from thinking at all ; if one could always be 
sure of doing that ; for the result in either case is 
invariably the same, whether we have all the trouble 
of prolonged cogitation and self argument, or whether 
we let things slide and wait till the moment of action 
arrives ; we are pretty nearly sure to decide in the 
end to follow the course to which self advantage at 
that moment points. 


A JOURNEY TO SYDNEY. 1G1 

But perhaps in the laisser abler case, we should 
often lose that comfortable feeling of desiring to hug 
one’s self in an ecstasy of approbation, which is oft- 
times the outcome of a long train of thought, started 
for the purpose of easing our conscience, but ended in 
the determination to follow the dictates of our own 
sweet will, because it is really more expedient so to do* 

Thus Arthur Dacre argued with himself. He 
would win this thousand pounds without delay, and 
the manner of winning it would be by backing a win- 
ner upon the race-course ; and once having arrived at 
this conclusion, was able to lean back in his carriage 
to sleep, wearing the air of a man who has thoroughly 
sifted a matter to the bottom, and overcome an obsta- 
cle which might probably have altogether baffled even 
the most penetrating of mankind. 


162 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


CHAPTER XIY. 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 

“ One of these poets, which is it ? 
Somewhere or another sings. 

That the crown of a sorrow’s sorrow, 

Is remembering happier things. 

What the crown of a sorrow’s sorrow 
May be, I know not, but this I know, 
It lightens the years that are now, 
Sometimes to think of the years ago.” 


N finding himself once again in Sydney, after so 



long an absence from civilization, Arthur had 
little time for thought, except that of mere enjoy- 
ment at being once again in a city ; once more able to 
gaze into shop-windows and watch with amazement 
the busy throng which never ceased to flow along the 
streets. He had made many friends while in Sydney 
before, and as is usual in that most hospitable of 
cities, felt that he would be welcome in at least a score 
of those stately houses, whose green lawns are seen 
sloping down towards the sea, as the foreign visitors 
catch their first glimpse of the most beautiful harbor 
in the world. 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


163 


He would have nothing to do, he knew, but to 
take a cab, and drive to Rose Bay, Darling Point, or 
the Edgecliffe road ; at each or any of these charming 
mansions which adorn the outskirts of the city, he 
would receive a welcome and a dinner ; but, recollect- 
ing a promise made to the naval officers who had, 
from time to time, visited Currendore, to come and 
dine with them whenever he happened to be in Syd- 
ney, he determined that he would, that night, go off 
to the ship and partake of their hospitality. 

The delight of being once again in Sydney, once 
more surrounded by crowds of mankind after so long 
a period of semi-solitude in the bush, almost intoxi- 
cated his brain, and he felt that to dine at mess with 
a lot of cheery fellows would indeed be a treat, and a 
fit ending to such a day of pleasure as he had already 
experienced from the mere fact' of being no longer 
alone. Therefore he sent off a note to Cyril Danes- 
bury to say he would, if convenient, turn up at dinner 
that night. 

And then began the difficult operation of smooth- 
ing out and brushing up his dress clothes. 

By Jove, how rum they looked, he thought, fancy 


164 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


wearing dress clothes again, — and he almost laughed 
during the occupation of tying his white tie. 

“ Oh, what a swell I look,” he said to himself, as he 
looked into the glass — “ ah, but how it reminds me of 
old times” — and the laugh concluded in a sigh. 

But Arthur was not going to let himself become 
sentimental at such a moment as this. In the bush, 
with nothing else to do but think, thought and senti- 
ment were both very fine things — but now, he really 
hadn’t time to spare for either; this evening he 
intended to enjoy himself, nor let anything interfere 
with his present pleasure, and so whistling to himself, 
he hailed a cab, and told the man to drive to Prince’s 
Steps, where he arrived in time to catch the dinner 
boat, according to the instructions received in Danes- 
bury’s delighted answer to his note. 

Arthur was much amused at the manner in which 
the little midshipman in charge of the boat, laid him- 
self out to entertain Lieut. Danesbury’s guest. 

“ It’s really awfully pretty, this harbor,” he 
remarked, by way of continuing the conversation, and 
showing that he was as affably inclined as the young 
officer himself. 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP 


165 


“Yes, it isn’t bad,” allowed the boy, “but to my 
mind, it can’t compare to Plymouth Sound.” 

“Oh, I like this best,” replied his passenger. 

“ Why, you've seen Plymouth, have you ?” 
exclaimed the child, with open-mouthed astonish- 
ment, “ you've been to England ?” 

“ Well, yes, once,” said Arthur, with a chuckle, 
but inwardly he thought — by Jove, how wild and 
uncouth I must look to this dapper brat, if he is so 
amazed at hearing that once I gazed upon his native 
land. 

“And I thought I looked rather well, too,” he 
continued to himself, looking down and surveying his 
toilette with a critical air, and then aloud : “ Yes, I 

was tame once, and it was then I saw Plymouth, 
before coming out here to run wild.” 

“Keally,” assented the boy, looking puzzled, not 
quite liking to laugh, nor yet wishing to accept too 
gravely what might, after all, be intended for a jest. 

But Arthur, after for a moment enjoying the 
youth’s confusion, good-naturedly helped him out, 
and saying : 

“ When are you going to come up to Currendore 
like some of the other gun-room fellows do ?” — turned 


166 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


the conversation into more agreeable channels, and by 
the time the young officer stood up and shouted 
“ oars,” as the boat dashed alongside, he and Arthur 
were on the very best of terms imaginable. 

Cyril was on deck waiting the arrival of his guest, 
and as Arthur came up the ladder, stepped forward to 
receive him ; while hard by was Porter, who came 
tearing along shouting “ whoop, isn’t this ripping, my 
word, to see yon here is the best fun I ever had — but 
it’s my watch— ” he continued ruefully, “so I can’t 
dine with you, but if Danesbury has you all to him- 
self at dinner, you’ll belong to me, mind, afterwards.” 

So saying, he returned to the bridge, while Cyril 
and his guest disappeared down the after ladder. 

How Arthur enjoyed that cheery meal. He had 
sometimes thought that he rather liked solitude, and 
that all enjoyment for him was over. What folly — 
here he was, laughing and talking as lightly as ever he 
had done in the olden days, and feeling as happy, per- 
haps happier, than he had ever felt in all his life. 
There may be a charm in solitude, melancholy may 
also be tolerably fascinating in the abstract, but, Great 
Scott ! jolly fellows, a good dinner, and Heidsieeks’ 
dry Monopole, beat both by lengths. 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


107 


That dinner seemed to be finished almost before it 
had begun, and it appeared to Arthur little more than 
five minutes before the President was heard to ham- 
mer on the table, and shout : “ Gentlemen, The 
Queen” after which customary toast, the band-master 
entered to take his glass of wine, and be asked, while 
sipping it, to play another piece. 

“ What shall it be ?” said the president, courteously 
turning to Danesbury’s guest, “ have you any prefer- 
ence ?” 

“ Well, I fear I shall not ask for anything very 
high-class if you leave it to me,” he answered, “ my 
taste is not an educated one, I like something jolly and 
appropriate; let’s have ‘Nancy Lee,’ can we?” he 
added, turning to the bandmaster. 

“ Certainly, sir,” replied that individual, with a 
bow and a slightly ironical smile, and draining his 
glass, he retired to conduct Iris band through this 
cheerful though hackneyed tune. 

The Queen’s health drunk, everyone was anxious 
to get away for a smoke, as it is not permitted to 
smoke in the ward-room, and an adjournment was 
made to the smoking circle, which is arranged around 
the after starboard gun. 


168 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


The non-commissioned officers and the gun-room 
do their smoking on the port side of the deck. It was 
a comfortable circle, though there was an absence of 
luxury and cushioned chairs. 

To Arthur, indeed, this array of liardbacked seats 
looked the picture of cosiness, and appeared more 
inviting and congenial than any sofaed room in 
which he may have smoked in days gone by. 

It is very odd, but after dinner, one is apt to feel 
content, and things do look rosy somehow. 

I do not wish to convey an idea that the Dry Mon- 
opole, of which I spoke, alone is responsible for this 
blessed state of things ; let a man drink only water with 
his meal, and I think that even he will probably find 
the exterior of people and things more attractive to 
the sight than they were before the bell had sum- 
moned to the feast. Mankind is very subject to im- 
pressions, and to the vast majority of mankind, dinner 
is very impressive indeed. 

And thus, Arthur, as he looked at those chairs 
arranged in a semi-circle round an enormous spittoon 
(in America they call it cuspidore, in England we 
have not yet invented new nomenclature for our 
spades), whose size more resembled a miniature horse 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


169 


pond than anything else, and above it a lantern con- 
taining a farthing dip ; in the background an 18 ton 
gun, a wide open port hole beyond, and in the further 
distance still, figures enjoying the cool air on the em- 
brasure outside, was constrained by this picture to 
exclaim, that, “ this is ripping.” 

Why, the very manner of lighting his cigar was 
capital fun ; for the life of him he could not ignite 
it at the lantern, which swung about the level of his 
head, as he had seen the other fellows do ; his nose 
would come into collision with the top of the glass, 
thereby preventing the cigar, which protruded from 
his mouth, from quite reaching the faint flame which 
seemed so near, and was yet so far away ; so, amid the 
laughter of his friends, he had to accept the invitation 
to take a light from Cyril’s proffered cigar. 

Then someone offered to wager that he would not 
walk, right round, balanced upon the narrow rasor of 
the gun, which is raised some two inches from the 
ground, and describes a semicircle before the port. 

Hurriedly lighting his cigar, Arthur prepared to 
accept the challenge; of course, he could do it, and in 
his eagerness, entirely forgetting that it was not a 
lucifer match from which he had taken his light, 


170 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


deliberately chucked his friend’s cigar through the 
open port-hole into the sea, and then proceeded to 
balance himself upon the narrow edge of iron. 

It was some moments before he became aware of 
what he had done, or was able to discover the reason 
of that roar of laughter, till the sight of Cyril’s face 
recalled the fact that he had never returned his bor- 
rowed weed ; then his apologies were profuse. 

For one moment, Danesbury had been unable to 
refrain from a look of profound consternation, as he 
saw his cigar, for which he had been waiting, go flying 
overboard, but the next, his face recovered its wonted 
smile, and that serene countenance beamed content as 
ever, while the others gave vent to their amusement 
in a laugh. 

Walking round the rasor soon led to other tricks, 
or rather feats ; the marine officer was a dog at jump- 
ing over a stick, held by himself at either end — an 
excellent post prandial amusement, I should imagine. 

No. 1 (the first lieutenant), was a whale at a certain 
chair trick, which none but he could manage, and 
Porter, who had by this time appeared upon the scene 
on his way to his solitary dinner, of course, was more 
accomplished still, possessing a whole repertoire of 


ON BOABD THE FLAGSHIP. 


171 


performances, both marvellous in their effects and 
impossible of imitation. By mutual consent he was 
acknowledged undefeated, which sent him rejoicing 
and singing on his way, to re-emerge, ere long, with 
an enormous pipe, a cheery laugh, and what was more 
important than all, a budget of yarns, for the edifica- 
tion of anyone who could spare the time to listen. 

By and by, Arthur crossed over to have a chat 
with some of his gun-room friends, whose acquain- 
tance he had made at Currendore, and was by them 
dragged below to partake of mysterious refreshment 
at their mess ; refreshment which must have made a 
pretty big hole in their somewhat limited wine bill. 

During the festivities of that evening, and the 
immense pleasure of being once more in such jolly 
company, our hero had almost entirely forgotten the 
reason of his presence on board the ship, or the object 
of his expedition to Sydney ; and it was not till 
Danesbury asked him if he would go with him to the 
races to-morrow, that he suddenly recollected the 
scene with Daurent — his hurried determination to fol- 
low up that wonderful revelation, and search for 
Deauville — and the money which he intended to pro- 
cure for the prosecution of that search. 


172 


ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP. 


Would he go to the races? Rather, that he 
would. 

Here was a good omen ; the very day after his 
arrival, too, he would have an opportunity of obtain- 
ing his desire. Supposing he lost — oh, bother it — 
supposing pigs should fly. He wasn’t going to think 
of anything so unpleasant as that ; time enough to 
bear a blow when it came, without looking forward to 
meet it in anticipation. 

“ Yes, delighted,” he exclaimed, to Danesbury’s 
offer, and the regret of leaving such a jolly evening, 
and feeling that this good time was over, was some- 
what leavened by the anticipation of to-morrow’s 
excitement, and the possibilities which that morrow 
contained. 


RAND WICK RACES. 


173 


CHAPTER XV. 


RANDWICK RACES. 


“ On the hill they are crowding together, 

In the stand they are crushing for room ; 
Like midge flies they swarm on the heather, 
They gather like bees on the broom ; 
They flutter like moths round a candle, 

Stale smiles granted, what then ? 

I’ve got a stale subject to handle, 

A very stale stump of a pen.” — G ordon. 


T was the first day of the Randwick race-meeting. 



JL The sun was shining bright — the air was stifling 
hot, and the dust flew in clouds as the vast crowd 
went journeying along the road towards that beautiful 
course. The trains were taking their thousands, the 
trams were crowded to suffocation, while coaches, 
omnibuses, carriages, and cabs, were speeding along in 
the blinding dust. 

Delicate ladies in gorgeous attire, men in tall hats 
and buttonholes, their race glasses across their should- 
ers, arrayed in all the latest fashions from Europe’s 


174 


RANDWICK RACES. 


distant cities ; men in fustian, men in rags ; one and 
all were directing their horses or their steps towards 
the self same spot. 

A race-meeting in sport- loving Australia is a mag- 
net, a magnet potent enough to draw from their 
houses, from their work or their pleasures, men and 
women of every degree. 

The English race have taken with them to the 
Antipodes their love of sport, and there now flourishes 
the sport of kings, as it flourishes, perhaps, in no other 
country in the world, England itself not excepted. 

The comfort and convenience of an Australian 
race-course must be experienced to be appreciated as 
it deserves. 

Among this crowd of vehicles was a hansom cab, 
which contained Cyril Danesbury and Arthur Dacre. 

To be bowling along once more to a race-meeting 
was to the latter a pleasure in itself. 

The very contact of the straps of his race glasses 
felt like the reunion with an old friend. The dust 
itself had a familiar taste, and sent his mind flying 
back to memories of the past — memories of well- 
packed stands— roaring voices, surging crowds, sup- 
pressed excitement, yells of triumph, shouts of 


RANDWICK RACES. 


175 


victory — memories which were, perhaps, to be re- 
peated on this day. 

The very omnibuses, even, as they lumbered past, 
and covered them with dust, were all part of one 
agreeable show ; the shouts and cries but a prelude to 
the more intoxicating sounds which soon would issue 
from the ring. And Arthur’s face beamed as Cyril had 
never seen it beam before, and as he looked upon him 
could not refrain from remarking : 

“ By Jove, how happy you look.” And Arthur’s 
eyes flashed as they had never flashed in the bush, 
except, perhaps, on that day when he fought with the 
swagsman, as he replied : 

“ Do I ? Well, I feel as chirpy as a cricket ; I sup- 
pose it is at a glimpse of real life after such long veg- 
etation in the bush.” 

And the naval man wondered within himself how 
these sights of every day had sufficient power to rouse 
to enthusiasm a person ordinarily so indifferent as Jim 
Atkins’ back station manager. He little guessed the 
drama of that life, or how one of the acts of that drama 
was to be brought to a close on this very day. 

Even now, Arthur had no settled plans ; he inten- 
ded to win a thousand pounds — but how ? What race? 


176 


RANDWICK RACES. 


wliafc liorse ? He knew nothing of the form of the ani- 
mals engaged, and the names of the horses even, were 
unknown to him — and jet he expected to win. 

Faith is a great possession, and on this occasion, 
Arthur had faith, lie trusted blindly that he would 
win, nor had even yet settled how. 

“Well,” said Cyril, when questioned as to whether 
he knew a good thing for a bit of a plunge, “ to tell 
the truth, I don’t. There are no good things, though 
the various stables and the public all claim to have 
several ; but from what I have seen, I should not at all 
wonder to see some of these fancies upset.” 

“ Why ?” asked his companion. 

“Well,” continued Cyril, “Whenever I can get 
away, I ride my pony out to see the gallops in the 
morning and I don’t waste my time when I do go ; 
thus, I have seen some of the favorites, and when I 
saw them I wondered why they were favorites.” 

“ Tell me one that will be beat,” asked Arthur, 
“ and then tell me an outsider that will beat it.” 

“ That I should rather like to know myself,” 
laughed Danesbury, “and for goodness sake, don’t 
take my words for gospel, for I am far from infallible, 


RANDWICK RACES. 


177 


only, as I tell you, I know something about horses and 
I use my eyes.” 

“Oh, I know,” replied Arthur, “but let’s hear 
what your eyes have seen, don’t be afraid of my com- 
ing a cropper over your opinions.” 

“Well, my eyes saw that St. Clair, a hot favorite 
for the steeplechase, was fat and short of work, and 
that of the others, Ninepin, was a likely looking ani- 
mal ; and my eyes also saw that the favorite for the big 
race couldn’t stay — at least, that was what I thought ; I 
may be wrong.” 

“ And what will beat St. Clair ?” 

“ That I can’t say, but should fancy that this horse 
(pointing to No. 10 on the card, Ninepin) would have 
a very fair show, and if the favorite is out of the big 
race, of all the outsiders, the one I should like to see 
carry my dollars would be Baccarat — what a name for 
a horse, the owner must have bought him out of his 
winnings at that noble game, I should imagine.” 

“ Baccarat,” said Arthur, slowly, “ yes, it is a rum 
name. If I backed an animal called Baccarat, I 
should almost feel as if I were gambling,” he went on 
as though to himself. 

“ Almost,” smiled Danesbury. 

8 * 


178 


RANDWICK RACES. 


“Oh, no, betting isn’t gambling,” cried Arthur, 
eagerly, “ it isn’t, is it ?” 

“Well, no, not exactly, I suppose,” replied Cyril, 
wondering at his earnestness, “ it isn’t with some fel- 
lows, but some men, of course, look upon the races as 
they would upon a card -table — as a means to gamble. 
But there are others who know about horses, watch 
their form, and go to the races for the love of the 
sport, and to back their opinion. Now, that isn’t 
gambling in the same sense of the word.” 

“Ah,” remarked Arthur, with a sigh of relief, “ I 
always said to bet wasn’t to gamble, and as I have no 
opinion of my own to-day, knowing so little about the 
horses, I’ll just back yours.” 

“ Oh, please don’t,” implored Cyril, “ I only gave 
you my opinion for what it was worth ; I bet very lit- 
tle myself, only I’m awfully fond of horses, and think 
I know something about them, therefore, more to flat- 
ter my vanity than anything else, I have a bit on.” 

“Well, let’s hope your vanity won’t sustain a 
shock to-day,” laughed the other, “as I intend going 
for the two you just mentioned. I do indeed, so 
please wish me luck.” 


RANDWICK RACES. 


179 


“ I shall be miserable if you lose because of me,” 
began Cyril. 

“ Bosh, I have lost before ; I really have,” seeing a 
puzzled expression upon the face of his friend, “ and I 
am now going to see if your judgment won’t bring me 
luck. If it doesn’t, well then you must try and win 
me something the next time we meet on a race- 
course,” and Arthur smiled as he thought how, if he 
lost, it would be little likely that he should ever find 
himself upon a race-course again. 

They had reached the entrance now, and in a few 
moments more, were wandering about the lawn, elbow- 
ing their way through the ring in order to inspect the 
horses in the paddock. 

Though Arthur was smiling and insouciant his 
mind was made up — he would have two bets that day, 
a steeple-chase, and aflat race — Ninepin and Baccarat. 
As well back them as anything else, he thought ; 
no use to go for a favorite with my capital, I must 
land an outsider, or no sum I can win will be any good 
for the object I have in view. 

I don’t much like the name of Ninepin, he 
thought, ninepins are only put up to be bowled over, 
and it is as likely as not that this little fancy of mine 


180 


RANDWICK RACES. 


will be bowled over as soon as I have set it up in 
pounds ; and as for Baccarat — why, that has already 
bowled me over once. 

It’s a word of ill-omen. Well, I used to be super- 
stitious, I would, if I had won one night, carefully 
select the same clothes that I had worn on that auspic- 
ious occasion, even going so far as to send that ident- 
ical shirt and white tie to the wash, so that I might 
not have to change a single article of dress, which, for 
all I knew, may have been the one which brought 
me luck. < 

I have kept my hat on on nights when it nearly 
stewed me to do so, and I have, before now, parted 
with bank notes to induce fellows to remain by me, 
while I was winning, or equally bribed them to 
depart, if I felt their presence was bringing me ill- 
luck. I have purchased seats and I have even bought 
my adversary’s hat — the result of all this was ruin. 
Now I will try the other tack. I’ll begin by backing 
a ninepin, and then I’ll plunge upon an animal that 
bears the most unpropitious name of Baccarat. 

And thus his mind once made up, Arthur did not 
bother his head further, except perhaps, to think for 
one moment, if only Joe Darvell could see him now, 


RANDWICK RACES. 


181 


know why ho was there, and how it came about that 
he, whom he had ruined, was now upon a race-course 
in Australia, thinking of little else than how he might 
by some means or other, become the winner of a thous- 
and pounds. 

It seemed a very short time before the numbers 
went up for the steeple -chase, and as Cyril had said, 
St. Clair was the favorite. 

The odds against Ninepin were 5-1. Arthur went 
into the ring and took five fifties ; if I pull this off, 
lie thought, I shall have some capital to go upon. 

The horses galloped past. Yes, St. Clair certainly 
ooked a little fat and short of work. Ninepin was in 
splendid condition, and he could not but congratulate 
himself upon having followed the advice of such an 
observant friend as Cyril Danesbury. 

In the bush he had thought he could never experi- 
ence excitement again — and yet, what was this he felt 
as the flag fell, and the voices roared “ they’re off.” 
If this was not excitement, it was certainly a sensation 
peculiarly similar to the one he used to imagine was 
such ; and thinking thus, his glasses to his eyes, 
Arthur watched the horses over the first jumps. 
How well they went, none making a mistake ; yes, 


182 


RANDWICK RACES. 


and Ninepin was going splendidly— wliat a stride, and 
liow cleanly he jumped ; but the favorite, too, was 
galloping strongly and looked as if he would be hard 
to beat. 

There were only four horses in the race — the fa- 
vorite, Ninepin, The Scot, and Mornington ; the lat- 
ter was second favorite, and Ninepin and The Scot 
were both at five to one. St. Clair evens, and Morn- 
ington two’s. 

During the first round, all four kept together, and 
as they took the jump in front of the stand a cloth 
might have covered the lot. Then they began to 
straggle — St. Clair, the favorite, was leading now, 
then Mornington, then Ninepin, and some way in 
the rear came The Scot. 

Presently a shout arose — the favorite had fallen. 
Yes, too true— there lay the yellow jacket upon the 
ground, and the riderless horse, now risen, was ca- 
reering wildly along. Was the jockey hurt? “ No,” 
said someone who spoke as mouthpiece for the crowd, 
any one of whom could probably have seen as well 
as himself — he was up and running out of the way 
of the other horses. By Jove, how disgusted lie 
must feel ! 


RANDWICK RACES. 


183 


Mornington now was leading, but going far from 
strongly, taking his jumps in a slovenly manner ; at 
any moment he, too, might come to grief. Next to 
him came Ninepin, and a long way in the rear, The 
Scot. Would Ninepin ever catch the leader? 

“No, I fear not,” said Danesbury to Arthur, who 
was silently looking through his glasses. 

Mornington had got to the corner which led into 
the straight now, and Ninepin was still toiling in the 
distance almost opposite the stand, while The Scot 
plodded along perseveringly a long, long way in the 
rear. 

“No, he will never catch him, Ninepin’s out of 
this contest,” said Arthur, wearily,— but as he spoke, 
a shout went up— “he’s down.”— And sure enough, 
Mornington, taking one of the last fences, in a more 
slovenly and tired manner than ever, had come to 
grief, and rider and horse were lying all mixed up 
upon the ground. 

“Hurrah, you’re safe now,” cried Danesbury, feel- 
ing quite excited on his friend’s account, Ninepin s 
got it all his own way.” 

But Arthur said nothing. There was a feeling 
of tightness about his heart which seemed to hold him 


184 


RANDWICK RACES. 


dumb — yes, it did look as if be must win now, and 
unused to the extreme tension of excitement, his 
nerves, not being in that excellent training which 
they once were, he could not trust himself to speak 
in that indifferent voice with which he had been wont 
to astonish even himself in times of greatest trial. 

Yes, nothing, bar accidents, could beat Ninepin 
now ; he need not even hurry, for The Scot was miles 
away hopelessly in the rear. Thus almost looking upon 
the race as won, Arthur watched his horse turn into 
the straight and make for home. , 

The race was practically over now, and people felt 
but little more interest in the result ; in a moment 
more, Ninepin would have galloped past the post, a 
winner, by any distance he pleased. 

A moment more —yes — but he never did. At the 
last hurdle he came to grief. 

“ That fool of a jockey ” cried Cyril, stamping upon 
the ground with impatience. Yes, he was a fool of 
a jockey ; he had the whole course to himself, the race 
was his own, to win it as he liked, and yet he must 
needs go putting his horse at that last jump as though 
he had the devil at his back, and it behoved him to 
ride like ten thousand demons all rolled into one. 


RANDWICK RACES. 


185 


Well, lie was sorry now, perhaps, poor beggar, as 
dazed and stunned, he raised himself from the ground 
and proceeded to stagger home on foot. 

“I daresay the horse was tired, though,” explained 
Arthur, “ he might have thought, to rush him at his 
jump was the only way to get him over it — but per- 
haps he’ll get up again ; if he looks sharp, he has lots 
of time before The Scot comes up — ’pon my word, I 
should like to go and carry the horse in myself, it is 
such a little way — surely he’ll get on again,” he con- 
tinued, with an anxiety in his voice he could not alto- 
gether conceal. But no, the rider did not get on 
again ; the horse lay there motionless and still — his 
neck was broken, poor, gallant beast, aud his jockey 
passed the post on foot. 

Meanwhile The Scot came cantering past — the 
race was lost, the race was won. 

“Well, that’s a pretty bad beginning,” said 
Arthur “ let’s hope our other fancy will be a better 
one.” 

“ Well, you see my judgment wasn’t much at 
fault,” replied Cyril, “ but really I wish you wouldn’t 
go by me, I am very unlucky. Poor Ninepin, it was 


186 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


a wicked name to give a horse ; of course he got 
bowled over.” 


“ Perhaps Baccarat will be a luckier appellation,” 


laughed our hero, “ let us at any rate hope so. How- 
ever, we’ll go and lunch now, and get ourselves into 
trim for the coming struggle.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


“lieu! lieu! quantus equis (that’s Latin 
For “ bellows to mend ” with the weeds) 
They’re off! lights and shades! silk and satin! 
A rainbow of riders and steeds; 

And one shows in front, and another 
Goes up and is seen in his place, 

Sic transit (more Latin) — oh! bother, — 

Let’s get to the end of the race.” — Gordon. 



UNCHEOH, at the back of the Union Club 


1 A drag, was a very welcome interlude after the 
excitement of the last few moments, and during this 
meal, Arthur had many opportunities for learning 
something about the horse which he intended should 
bear his fortunes, and gain for him that sum of money 
which was necessary for the prosecution of his search 
for Deauville 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


187 


Even while enjoying his salmon and champagne, 
Arthur hated himself for what he was doing ; he 
despised himself for his weakness at finding himself 
once more upon a race-course, betting in sums greater 
than he could afford, more than that, in sums which 
represented his all. Even the excitement of it was 
distasteful to him, and he felt quite worn out and 
exhausted by the little of it he had already experi- 
enced. 

Time was when such excitement had braced him 
up, making him feel that now life was worth the liv- 
ing, and sensations worth the having, if one could feel 
like this. 

But even excitement can pall, and surfeited with 
it, his sensations refused to revel in its experience as 
they had been wont to do, whether he won or 
whether he lost. And now, instead of feeling braced 
up and invigorated by the wild, thrilling moments 
through which he had passed, his body seemed worn 
out, and his mind despondent and low, as a result of 
the unusual restraint to which it had been obliged to 
submit. 

“ No,” he thought, “ if I pull this off — there it 
ends ; I’ll never bet again. Let me but win this 


188 


A CLOSE FINISH 


money and I’ll ‘off it ’ at once, and devote my life to 
the exposure of these villains, and the providing of a 
loophole of escape for my poor darling, in case she is 
free, or an excuse for regaining that freedom, if she 
be indeed wedded to that hypocritical blackguard of a 
man.” 

And thinking thus, Arthur Dacre ate his lunch, 
and laughed and joked with his companions at that 
very cheery meal. Then the bell rang for the big 
race. 

Now was the moment — within the next hour, he 
would know his fate. He would take this as an omen ; 
if this horse won, he would accept it as a token that he 
was to search out Deauville and unearth his vile con- 
spiracy. And if it lost, he would not fight against 
destiny, but return quietly to Currendore, leave tilings 
to take their course and resume his old life, the world 
forgetting and by the world forgot. 

And yet he had said he was no longer superstitious, 
and declared that he would back Baccarat just to 
prove this fact. 

Alas, how inconsistent are the majority of men, 
and how, after delivering themselves of some fresh 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


189 


departure from tlieir usual conduct, do they straight- 
way go, and by their acts belie their words. 

Perhaps this is what relieves the monotony of life, 
this constant variety and the perpetual occurrence of 
acts on the part of men whose words may have led us 
to expect the very opposite of all. 

“ Two to one, the favorite — five to one, Hilda — 
eight to one, Moonstone — ten to one, Mildred, Bacca- 
rat, Sister, Jasper,” and half a score of others. 

“ Well, sir, what do you want to back ?” said “ the 
Count,” as Arthur penetrated into the ring. 

“ What are you doing ?” he asked. 

“ Two to one the favorite, sir, ten to one most of 
the outsiders.” 

“ Lay me against Baccarat, an outsider, isn’t he ?” 

“ Yes, ten to one, if you like.” 

“ Ten hundreds?” 

“ The Count” looked doubtful, but seeing that 
Arthur was now joined by Danesbury, who, though 
not much of a plunger, was tolerably well known to 
the fraternity, he began to write, sayiug : 

“Yes. with pleasure, ten hundred to one, much 
obliged for your patronage, sir, much obliged, I am 
sure,” and the polite, if rather obsequious, penciller 


190 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


disappeared into the crowd, shouting the odds as he 
went. 

“ I had to back my opinion as you have done so,” 
laughed Danesbury, “ I hope to goodness, I may not 
have put you on to a stiff ’un.” 

“ No fear of that,” said Arthur, “ you weren’t far 
out about poor Ninepin, if he had stood up we should 
have won, now let us hope that Baccarat will not only 
stand up, but that he will w T in.” 

“Let us hope so,” answered Cyril, “ come on now, 
let us get a good place to see the race — lmlloa, Por- 
ter, done anything this time ?” 

“Yes,” answered that gentleman, “oh, such a 
plunge ; I’ve lumped it on the favorite — dead sure to 
win — I had it straight.” 

“ Well, I hope for your sake he may,” replied his 
friend, “ but 1 should have scarcely thought it good 
enough to plunge upon.” 

“ Oh, yes, it is though ; my word, I won a pot 
over that steeple-chase — wasn’t it a glorious piece of 
luck, Ninepin’s falling, and now I have put it all 
upon the favorite this time.” 

“Well, nothing will satisfy you,” answered Cyril, 

“ whatever you wdn you are certain to squander on the 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


191 


next race, so it’s little use ,for you to have a stroke of 
luck.” 

“ Ah, I want to make something worth winning, 
you see,” laughed Porter, “ nothing like piling it up 
— a poor officer can’t live on his pay.” 

“A poor officer will have to try to, and pay 
besides, on Monday,” quoth Cyril, drily, “well, I’m 
sorry we’re not all in the same boat, but let us hope 
that one of us will be among the jubilant when this 
race is over.” 

So talking, they mounted the stand, going right 
away to the top, where they stood upon the platform 
behind the seats. 

The bell rang, the horses galloped past, and the 
crowd criticised as they went, each man had a chance 
of seeing how his fancy looked, and how he got over 
the ground. 

“I like his going,” said Arthur, as Baccarat can- 
tered easily past. 

“Yes, we’ll get a run for our money, I think,” 
assented Cyril. 

“ What do you think of the favorite?” asked Por- 


ter. 


192 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


“ Looks as fit as a fiddle, but my opinion is, he 
won’t stay.” 

“Oh, yes, he will,” answered the sanguine young 
officer, “he’ll stay right enough, and romp home in 
front of the crowd.” 

“ Well, for your sake, I hope he will,” replied his 
friend. 

Arthur was gazing at the horses, as one in a dream, 
— they were at the post now, and he stood there with 
his glasses to his eyes, watching their every move- 
ment. 

“What on earth keeps them such a long time ?” 
he asked. 

“It’s Baccarat our horse,” answered Cyril, “he 
won’t go up to his horses, and the starter can’t get 
them off.” 

“Is that Baccarat, that brute who’s kicking like 
fury, and turning round like a teetotum all alone in 
the rear ?” 

“That’s him,” said Cyril. “By Jove, what 
crushing luck, his jockey will never get him off, he’ll 
be left at the post. Yes, there they go, and he is left 
at the post.” 

And sure enough, as he spoke, that moving mass 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


193 


of color darted forward, while Baccarat remained, his 
toes firmly planted in the ground, absolutely refusing 
to start at all. 

“ Ah,” ejaculated Arthur, “ I knew it, my star is 
not in the ascendant ; what an unlucky beggar I am.” 

“ Crumbs ! what a start I’ve got,” cried Porter, 
“ the favorite’s right away ahead.” 

‘ 4 Hold hard,” said Cyril, ^ it’s a false start,” and 
as he spoke, the jockeys were seen turning their 
horses’ heads, and retracing their way to the starting 
post. 

A bystander might have heard two “ohs,” one 
from Arthur, which sounded very much like a sigh of 
relief, and one from Porter, which might, in a hurry 
have been mistaken for a much stronger expression. 

While there is life there is hope, and while the 
race is undecided, each backer has a whole life-time of 
hope upon which to depend. 

Once again the horses started, once again “ that 
brute Baccarat” as Cyril called him, was the delin- 
quent, being left at the post for the second time. 

“ Oh, they’ll never move that mule,” said Arthur, 
“ they are bound to be off and leave him there till he 

thinks it’s time to go home and feed.” 

9 


194 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


u Well, it certainly looks like it,” exclaimed Por- 
ter, “ but all this time my horse is tiring himself by 
dashing to the front and getting a good start to no 
purpose. Oh, I wish it were over,” he added, uncon- 
sciously giving vent to the feelings of one in that little 
party, who would never have dared thus express 
himself aloud. 

“ Lucky chap, Porter, he can always say exactly 
what he thinks,” once said Cyril, “ he is awfully to be 
envied.” And I think he was. 

Now there was a shout, very different to those 
little make-believes which had been given all along ; 
there was no doubt about it this time — the whole 
united voice of all that vast crowd was crying 
“ they’re off.” 

And they were off, with one exception, and that 
exception was Baccarat, who had remained behind to 
indulge himself with one final kick after their depart- 
ure. 

“ Obstinate, ill-tempered brute,” exclaimed Arthur, 
taking his glasses from his eyes in his impatience, and 
as he did so, there flashed across him all which that 
kick portended — nothing less than his ignominious 
return to his station duties minus the £150 he had 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


195 


brought with him to Sydney ; Deauville would be 
undiscovered, Darvell undisturbed, and Edith remain 
unhappy, he himself would, in a couple of days, be 
walking round that confounded wool-shed, and 
encountering the sarcastic sneer of that cool exasper- 
ating Frenchman. 

“ Bah,” and to hide the disgust which showed so 
plainly in his eyes, he almost chucked his glasses 
before them and once more let them rest upon the 
horses, who were racing towards the stand — what was 
this he saw ? 

There was no solitary horse alone in the rear* 
Where was he ? Why, there, bang in the centre of 
the ruck, going hard held and as likely to win as any- 
thing else in the race. 

By Jove, no more thoughts now, those glasses 
were glued to his eyes — hope had again sprung into 
life, perhaps he might win, after all. 

“ Oh, the brute,” he chucked his head, and almost 
stopped dead short again : several horses passed him. 

“ Oh.” almost groaned Cyril, “ what an animal — 
but lie’s going again, my word, what a stride, he’s 
gaining on them now ; why, lie’s passing those three 
as though they were standing still,” as Baccarat raced 


196 


A CLOSE FINISH. 


along through his horses till he had almost joined the 
four who were leading — the favorite, Moonstone, 
Hilda, and Jasper. The favorite was slightly ahead. 

Side by side with the other three raced Baccarat, 
his jockey sitting like a rock, evidently he dare not 
touch him. 

There was no doubt now, the animal had the pace, 
and the power to win — but would he choose to \ 

On they came, they were passing the stand now. 

Arthur was fairly trembling with excitement, 
while Porter was just yelling himself hoarse “ the 
favorite wins, the favorite — I told you so, lie’s won, 
he’s won.” 

Hardly ; for at that moment, like an arrow from a 
bow shot out Baccarat, leaving the others in his rear 
and racing neck and neck with the leader. Then, for 
one second, these two seemed locked together, but it 
was a second of short duration, for at the very 
moment the favorite should have made his effort, he 
declined, he felt himself collared and chucked it. 

“ He’s a cur,” was the shout from a thousand 
throats — yes, he stopped and refused to try, while 
Baccarat flew past the post a winner by a head. 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


197 


CHAPTER XVII. 

NEWS FROM EUROPE. 

“ And as one who pursues a shadow, 

As one who hunts in a dream, 

As the child who crosses the meadow, 

Enticed by the rainbow’s gleam, 

I — knowing the course was foolish, 

And guessing the goal was pain, 

Stupid and stubborn and mulish, — 

Followed and foNow again.”— Gordon. 

O HCE in funds, Arthur did not long delay the 
commencement of his self-imposed task. For- 
tune had been kind to him, Fate had intended him to 
succeed, and given him the first “ leg up ” upon the 
difficult road which he had longed to pursue. There- 
fore, he settled down in earnest, and gave his mind 
over entirely to the unravelling of the plot, and detec- 
tion of the scoundrels who had given him the final 
push over the precipice, upon the edge of which he 
had played. 

Revenge is very sweet, but I doubt much if the 
actual moment when that revenge can be taken could 
even compare to all the delights of preparation, and 


198 


NEWS FROM EUROPE 


the continual joy we feel when, step by step, the clue 
thickens, the skein unravels, and we find ourselves 
each day nearer to that revenge we so relentlessly pur- 
sue. 

But this is the same in almost any other desire of 
our curiously constructed natures. Is not the anticipa- 
tion of a pleasure the greater pleasure of the two ? 
Then all is couleur de rose, and our imagination, 
unwilling to conjure up the little rift within the lute, 
which so often rises up unexpectedly, for our discom- 
fort or disgust, whereby our honey may be turned 
into gall. 

At present, at any rate, to Arthur all seemed 
couleur de rose , the after part, he never thought of ; 
he would find Deauville, by some means gain his con- 
fidence, and then proceed to unmask Darvell and free 
Edith. 

What wild, vague plans! Why should Deauville 
help him? How, if he did, could he prove the ras- 
cality of his former friend, and even if he succeeded 
in this, how or in what manner would it restore free- 
dom to the girl who most probably was now his wife ? 
And yet, though to us, the whole scheme reads like the 
fantastic fancy of some sanguine lunatic, Arthur 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


199 


Dacre, a calm-thinking, perfectly, or rather supposed 
to be, perfectly sane, man, entered upon this tangled 
path, this means to an end, where no end was clear, 
without one misgiving, or the hesitation of a single 
moment. 

He telegraphed home. As I have said, his corres- 
pondence had lately almost ceased — and it was rare, 
very rare, that he heard news of those he knew in the 
old country. When last he had heard, Edith Munroe 
was engaged to his old friend Darvell, and though he 
himself had almost urged such a course upon him 
before leaving England, and wished him luck in the 
prosecution of his suit, yet none the less was it a blow, 
when the news of this engagement reached him, so 
much of a blow, indeed, that he felt the last tie was 
broken which bound him with home, the last link of 
friendship snapped and gone. 

What interest had he further in the lives of people 
“over there,” whom in all likelihood he would never 
see again ? 

Why brood over scenes from the past? Better wipe 
it out, and begin all over again ; much more chance of 
getting on in his new life, far greater probability of 
feeling content and en accord with present surround- 


200 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


ings, if there were no past to annoy him, no figures to 
people his imagination, distract his attention, or ren- 
der him morbid and inclined to moralize. 

No, it was not manly to brood or cry over spilt 
milk ; the milk was spilt, and there was an end of it — 
and so, according to this rather droll philosophy, he 
endeavored to act, and though it was easier said than 
done, yet did he manage tolerably in his effort to for- 
get the past, and it was only some chance incident, 
like the presence of a globe-trotter at Currendore, or 
the rare arrival of a letter from home, which ever dis- 
turbed the even tenor of his days. 

But now at once all his interest reawakened. He 
blamed himself for having been so long asleep, while 
those he loved might have perhaps been watched over 
and protected, had he not been so anxious in his self- 
ishness to free his mind from all memories of the past, 
for fear lest they might hurt his susceptible feel- 
ings. 

“ Selfish beast,” he exclaimed, “ to think only of 
myself, and my own convenience ; to desire escape 
from all that is unpleasant, in order that I may live the 
life of an animal, eat, drink, and sleep with a certain 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


201 


amount of work, nothing to trouble me, nothing to 
bother me, peace and quiet, quiet and peace.” 

During the actual time of this peace and quiet he 
had been well content that it should be so, and in feel- 
ing content it never occurred to him that he was 
doing aught than bear a cruel fate with the magnificent 
resignation of an unusually equable martyr. And now, 
here he was, suddenly taking himself to task for this 
former equanimity and placid acceptance of his fate. 

Yes, he told himself, as Daurent said, he had been 
an ass who had laid down to receive his burden (how 
those words seemed to rankle). 

It was all changed now — a glimpse of life, a stroke 
of luck, a ray of hope, had altered the current of his 
thoughts, and even his pet philosophy had crumbled to 
pieces through the mere change of scene. 

What a very adaptive machine is the mind of man, 
and how altered circumstances or new surroundings 
may bring change to every thought therein. 

I always smile when a man enunciates a partic- 
ular theory, or proclaims the wisdom or infallibility 
of a certain philosophical text. Remove him to an- 
other spot — give him other fortunes, and another 

audience, and I wager that he’ll change his tune, I 
9 * 


202 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


mean his doctrine, which will be as dissimilar from 
what he once gave forth as — what shall we say ?— well, 
as dissimilar as content from discontent, or the prover- 
bial chalk from the proverbial cheese. 

Thus the Arthur Dacre in Sydney with a thousand 
pounds in his pocket is a very different thinking per- 
son to the Arthur Dacre we knew in the bush, when 
he lived all alone, and the sudden acquisition of a 
thousand pounds, a thing as improbable as any other 
wonderful stroke of fortune that might by some im- 
possibility occur. 

As I said at the beginning of this long analysis 
of our hero’s feelings, his first step was to telegraph 
home. In an incredibly short space of time the 
answer came. Darvell was well and happy, very 
happy, for his long engagement with Edith Munroe 
was about at last to culminate in marriage, and the wed- 
ding day was fixed for some date about two months 
hence. 

She was still free then, — there might yet be 
time, he would save her the fate of becoming the 
wife of a common swindler— a man whom he intended 
should end his life in jail. But how? Should he 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


203 


telegraph to her and beseech her to postpone the 
wedding ? 

No, he could scarcely do that — she would think 
he had some ulterior motive in so doing ; she would 
at once ask Joe for an explanation. Joe would be 
put upon his guard — he would never then be able to 
substantiate his words, while it would result in his 
being looked upon as a traducer and a liar, a man who 
had libelled a former friend, merely because that 
friend happened to be a rival who had been more suc- 
cessful than himself. No, that would never do — he 
must get proofs, time enough to telegraph then, when 
he could take the next steamer home with these 
proofs actually in his possession. 

There was not a moment to be lost, he must find 
Deauville. In reply to his telegrams, no one had 
heard of him — no one seemed to know of him. 

Again he cabled, this time to an old friend of 
his who had lived in Paris all his life, and was sup- 
posed to know every one there who had, in any way, 
been prominent, or whose figure had been familiar 
upon the Boulevard or at the club. 

The answer came. “ Ask the police.” Ask the 
police! Heavens, had the turn in the tide come 


204 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


already ? Had his enemy already passed beyond his 
power? It would seem so ; but this was no time for 
idle wonder. He telegraphed to the police. 

When in Paris he had met one of the chiefs of 
that magnificently organized department — that ac- 
quaintance now stood him in good stead. He asked 
him if he knew where he could find the Comte de 
Deauville, private business of the utmost importance 
was his reason for this request. The answer staggered 
him. 

“ The present address of M. Le Comte Deauville is 
lie de Hon, Hew Caledonia, crime, forgery, and mur- 
der, affair hushed up by friends.” 

Again and again Arthur read this precious infor- 
mation — “ forgery and murder.” 

How he began to fully realize the nature of Dau- 
rent’s confession ; till this moment, I fancy, he had 
hardly grasped the rascality of the gang to whose 
machinations he owed his ruin, nor had he actually 
had it brought home to him that his good- kind friend, 
Joe Darvell, Edith’s promised husband, was in reality 
the thorough-paced blackguard he had been repre- 
sented. 

There was little doubt now — u forgery and mur- 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


205 


der ” — the words were clear enough. Darvell’s con- 
federate and partner was in a French convict prison, 
serving a term of penal servitude for forgery and 
murder. 

Yes, but Daurent said that Deauville had possession 
of the papers containing the signatures of that deed of 
partnership. 

No wonder Darvell had searched for his lost friend 
— no wonder his absolute disappearance had caused 
that upright gentleman the severest of apprehensions. 
And Arthur almost laughed as he thought how com- 
pletely Deauville must have vanished without leaving 
a trace whereby he might be discovered. Convicted of 
a crime, tried with all the secrecy procured by influ- 
ence, he had been sentenced and shipped off to New 
Caledonia with a cargo of the worst felons from the 
Paris prisons, and not even Darvell, who knew so well 
the little failings of his friend’s character, and his 
occasional departures from the path of virtue, would 
have thought of seeking him as far as that — and even 
had he been aware of his present address, had the story 
of the Count’s disgrace, instead of being, as it was, 
hushed up, had it been blazened forth to the entire 
world, he would probably' have been able to smile 


206 


NEWS FROM EUROPE. 


complacently at his security, and the nice comfortable 
feeling which he now possessed in the knowledge that 
the man whom he had so much reason to fear was now 
safely housed in such an extremely remote corner of 
the world. 

No, thought Arthur, even if Darvell did know of 
his whereabouts, he w r ould feel perfectly secure, he 
would not think of following him for the sake of that 
precious document, which had probably been destroyed 
along with the rest of the convict’s papers — not very 
likely he’d keep it, less likely still, that he would be 
allowed to keep anything in his own actual possession, 
the chance of such a thing was small. 

But Darvell had not gone to seek him out, it 
would scarcely have been worth his while, even 
assuming he knew where to go ; but, concluded our 
hero, as he finished this long train of thought, during 
which he had never ceased to stare at that eloquent 
telegram, and those words, “ forgery and murder,” but 
it is well worth my while, and I will go. 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


207 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


NEW CALEDONIA. 

“ Ah me ! we believe in evil 

Where once we believed in good; 

The world, the flesh, and the devil, 

Are easily understood. 

The world, the flesh, and the devil, 

Their traces on earth are plain, 

Must they always riot and revel, 

While footprints of man remain ?” — Gokdon. 

O those who may be ignorant of the fact, I will 



JL mention that New Caledonia is a beautiful is- 
land, or more properly speaking, little group of islands, 
belonging to the French. These islands are in the 
south Pacific ocean, off the west coast of Australia ; 
distant about four days, by steamer from Sydney, and 
are the stopping place for the boats which leave that 
port for Fiji. It is a beautiful tropical country, and 
has also recently, and formerly, been a bone of con- 
tention, almost a casus belli, between Australia and the 
government of France ; for to it the French govern- 
ment dispatch all the worst criminals from their jails. 

As in former days we used to send convicts to 


208 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


Australia, now do the French send theirs to New Cal- 
edonia. As certain classes of these convicts are 
allowed a large amount of liberty, the number of 
escapes which yearly take place are very large ; and 
when a convict escapes, by boat, from the island, the 
coast for which he makes is the coast of Australia. 

Now, it is not extraordinary that the inhabitants 
of that country find great cause for discontent in the 
occasional arrival of these unwelcome visitors. Nor 
is it again extraordinary that the authorities at Noumea, 
(the capital of New Caledonia) should not greatly trou- 
ble their heads over the escape of a convict more or 
less, nor take very excessive pains for its prevention. 

The chances for a man who puts to sea in a small 

boat, the kind of boat which an escaping convict 

would be likely to steal, are so extremely small. To 

cross those rough seas between Australia and New 

Caledonia, in a steamer, is not an experience which is 

© 

accompanied by comfort ; in a small boat, therefore, it 
is a voyage of extreme peril. Thus scores of convicts 
who attempt this road to freedom are freed from all 
earthly troubles in very deed, and their flight is ended 
by an almost certain death. Only a very small per- 
centage of those who make the attempt can ever hope 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


209 


to reach the Australian shore, and once there, arrayed 
in convict dress, without food, without money, there 
is no alternative for them but to rob and pillage for 
the necessaries of life. 

Small wonder the colonies do not approve of these 
foreign visitors ; and yet it can be understood that the 
French government is not greatly concerned at the 
drowning of so many of these desperate characters, or 
inclined to go out of its way to express aught but 
relief over their untimely end. 

It was for this island that Arthur Dacre took pas- 
sage in one of the steamers which run to Fiji. He 
carried with him a letter from the English Governor 
at Sydney, setting forth the object of his errand, and 
requesting that he might be allowed to interview one 
of the convicts on urgent private business. 

I will not describe his journey thither. Imagine 
a small steamer crowded, it’s decks turned into 
a farmyard, for the conveyance of sheep and cows ; 
smells of oil, smells of bilge-water, smells of food, — 
baked food, for on these steamers the number 
of baked joints set before the seasick passenger is in 
itself a marvel. Add to this, very rough weather, 
and almost incessant rain, green seas pouring over you 


210 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


whenever you stepped on deck, cockroaches wandering 
over you whenever you went below, then picturing 
this, you will gather some very slight idea of what our 
hero went through before reaching the harbor of 
Noumea. When he did reach it, • though, the view 
which opened up before his eyes was in itself a reward 
for the discomfort of the last few days. Green 
islands and wooded bays were on every side, and he 
could not refrain from marvelling that a place so fair 
should be the the habitation of, perhaps, a greater 
assemblage of criminals than there was on any other 
spot in the world. 

Truly, it could not be an unpleasant change for the 
captive of a Paris prison to be transferred to Noumea, 
where, if his conduct warranted the favor, the strict- 
ness of his confinement was greatly relaxed. But for 
those who were already free, the goalers, soldiers, and 
officials — what was the beauty of the island to them. 
Would any mere view ameliorate their condition, or 
soften the bitterness of exile from all they loved at 
home ? 

Exile is exile, wherever it may be, and a man who 
is inclined to rail at a fate which may banish him from 
his country and all the sweet associations of the past 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


211 


would feel his exile in an earthly paradise, almost as 
keenly as though his present home were built upon a 
rock with nought but sea and sand around. The 
beauty or attractiveness of a landscape seldom consist 
of Nature’s gifts alone ; it is the manner in which we' 
look upon its face, the reflection of our own natures 
within. And as the steamer approached the wharf 
steering slowly through the shallow channel, Arthur 
felt that life in this spot would be unbearable. The 
soft beauty of the scene would be enervating and 
depressing, it would appeal to the sentimental in his 
nature, effeminate him even, until he became as 
unmanly and insignificant as those paltry beings who 
were the aborigines of the soil. 

No, he could not fight the fight of life in such a 
scene as this, he would deteriorate and go down hill. 
And then he thought of Australia and its rugged 
country, its gaunt dead trees, the wild crows’ weird 
call, the subtle charm of all that uncouth animal life, 
the birds that run with awkward gait, the beasts that 
hop as though they fain would fly, the grandeur of the 
forest ranges, the vastness of all around, the space, 
distance, and wild open land. That is a place to 
fight the fight of life, to feel the pulses of manhood 


212 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


stirred within as the stout horse bears you across those 
boundless plains. That is a country for a man, for its 
very wildness awakens, and prevents him from lying 
idle or inert. Yes, one’s past and former life seem 
small and petty beside such scenes as this ; here a man 
can work, here a man can taste the cup of freedom, 
away from the trammels of civilization, unhampered 
by the rules of men. 

How contented I ought to be, thought Arthur, his 
heart beating quicker as he thus called to mind the 
active life of Currendore; why, if I lived here, I 
should be inclined to sit upon the ground, and throw 
up the sponge. 

But here his meditations were ended somewhat 
abruptly by the vessel running alongside, and the sub- 
sequent commencement of that confusion and uproar, 
which invariably greets the arrival of an incoming 
steamer, in whatever part of the world it may be, but 
more especially in a place like this, where the only 
occurrences which mark the flight of time, for the 
inhabitants, are these periodical reminders that the out- 
side world exists, that world where once they dwelt. 

One of the passengers, a citizen of Noumea, 
kindly took possession of our hero, and conveyed him 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


213 


from the ship to his own home, a little house in the 
centre of the unlovely town. 

It was too late in the day to think of the business 
for which he had come, and Arthur only too willingly 
escaped from the terrors of that smelly ship to accept 
the hospitality of his kindly friend. 

No person who has never been to sea, not even one 
who has been to sea, and yet failed to suffer all the 
agonies of seasickness — seasickness in the broadest 
sense of the word, a combination of smells, discom- 
fort, damp and stormy weather — no one who has not 
some experience of this kind upon which he can look 
back, can by any possibility picture to himself the joy 
of the first shoregoing meal. 

Arthur Dacre was not greedy, he was merely 
appreciative, and, ye little fishes, how greatly he 
appreciated that dinner in the tiny house at Noumea, 
away from sheep, away from cows ; a table where the 
joints of baked meats were absent, and seats wherein 
the cockroaches had never made their nest. To enjoy 
a meal, one first must suffer, and I think, in this 
instance our hero was fully qualified for the kind of 
enjoyment I now describe. 

When his host informed him that the servants 


214 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


were only convicts let out for the day, that murderers 
and poisoners were ministering to his wants, he only 
smiled. Nothing could put him off — nothing damp 
the pleasure of this shoregoing meal. 

After the early dinner, his host took him for a 
drive and gave him every opportunity for admiring 
the beautiful views in which each portion of the 
island was so rich, and when he had duly seen, and 
duly expressed himself delighted, he was finally 
driven to the square, or place, to hear the music. 
This was something novel with a vengeance. A large 
band playing selections from the latest European 
operas, a band composed of convicts, each individual 
musician being clothed in convict dress. There was 
something incongruous in the sight. These poor — to 
the ordinary eye, a fellow-creature held captive is 
always poor— convicts, playing their instruments with 
a dogged, snllen air, the air of performing an unwill- 
ing task, while the gay idlers of the town were there 
to “flamer” round the square, laughing and talking, 
enjoying the music, and presenting in their light-toned 
gaiety a grim contrast to those sad -faced musicians. 

Had Arthur been alone, or had he been able to 
spare the time to moralize, 1 think he would have 


NEW CALEDONIA.. 


215 


taken up his parable, and waxed quite eloquent upon 
this, to him, so novel sight. But his cheery compan- 
ion, a vivacious little Frenchman, who himself saw 
nothing strange in the present spectacle, gave him no 
chance, but rattled on with his airy conversation with 
a real or assumed spirit of gaiety which was quite 
impossible to resist. 

Nothing is odd when one becomes accustomed to 
it, and this gentleman could see nothing odd or incon- 
gruous in the sight which, to Arthur, seemed so sad 
and out of taste. 

That night he was shown the sights of the town, 
the sights consisting of a few bar-rooms, all famous for 
the beauty of the ladies who served out the refresh 
ments. 

It is commonly reported that Noumea is famous 
for its beautiful bar-maids, just as in our books of 
geography we are told that Brussels is famous for its 
lace, or Newcastle for its coals. 

Reputation is everything, and a tradition that this 
thing is true, and it is quite possible that there may 
have been some foundation for this reputation now 
owned by Nomuea, but that foundation must have been 
a very ancient dame at the date of which I speak, foi 


216 


NEW CALEDONIA. 


poor Arthur, who had been informed of the beauty he 
would soon behold, felt much disappointment at the 
reality 01 what he saw. 

But everything goes by contrast. A man may be 
hard to please in London, his ideas of beauty too diffi- 
cult to suit. He goes to Australia, and the loveliness of 
the Colonial belies may perhaps equally fail to impress. 
He will voyage to Hew Caledonia. “ Beauties , 55 he 
exclaims, with a snort of surprise, when told that this 
is the gift of which the island boasts. He goes fur- 
ther afield, to Samoa, perhaps, (they are lovely Sam- 
oan maidens, at least it is the custom to describe them 
so), “ bah, they are plain . 55 He next may land in far 
Fiji, “ Mon Dieu , 55 he says “ I pity them their looks . 55 
He sojourns there awhile — these selfsame ladies grow 
quite passing fair. Touching at Samoa, on his return 
journey, he sighs to think how short a time he stays — 
“they are so very pretty, these graceful maidens of 
the Southern seas . 55 

At Noumea, he drinks the sour claret dispensed by 
lovely ladies behind the bar, until the ship shall start 
— and then in Sydney — Ah, how shall I describe his 
feelings ? Every woman is a houri, each dainty damsel 
some enchanted fairy who perhaps may flap her wings 


THE PRISONS. 


217 


and fly away. I will not follow him to England, for 
in six long weeks at sea, immured in a floating prison 
with the most charming of their sex, all degrees of 
comparison may well be lost. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE PRISONS. 


“ And hast thou nought to repent my son ? 

Dost thou scorn confession and shrift ? 

Ere thy sands from the glass of time shall run, 

Is there nought undone that thou should’st have done ? 

Naught done that thou should’st have left ? 

The guiltless soul may from guilt be won, 

And the stoniest heart may be cleft. ” — Gordon. 


N EXT morning Arthur presented himself at 
Government House, and being courteously 
received by the aide-de camp, explained his mission. 
Nothing could have been more kindly than his 
reception, and he was at once granted a u permit ” to 
enter the prisons and interview the convict Deauville. 
Armed with this passport, Arthur put himself on 
board of the Governor’s boat, and crossed over to lie de 

Nqu, where the prisons were. On landing, he was 
10 


218 


THE PRISONS. 


received by the commandant, to whom he explained 
his mission. 

The Commandant could not recollect any convict 
of the name of Deauville, nor could he from memory 
recognize a person such as Arthur described, but he 
was welcome to go over the prisons, and see if he 
eould recognize his man, and while he was absent, he 
the Commandant, would go to his office and look over 
the books, in the endeavor to find details of the person 
whom he sought. 

It was quite possible, however, the convict might 
have been transported under another name. If so, he 
feared the only plan would be to attempt to recognize 
him among the others ; therefore, to save time, would 
Monsieur commence at once ? Thus, with a goaler as 
his guide, Arthur set forth, and with him visited all 
the prisons. 

Very like other prisons they were, but he looked 
at them all with great interest, as so few people are 
permitted to penetrate into the mysteries of the He 
de Nou. 

The first place they came to was a huge building 
set apart for the free convicts, or those whose conduct 
had earned permission to work as domestic servants 


THE PRISONS. 


219 


during the day , at night they returned across the bay, 
and were shut up in this building. Further on, the 
prisons with their courtyards and armed sentries at 
every point, began to look more formidable, and 
Arthur scarcely knew whether he was more sorry for 
he imprisoned felons, who, whatever had been their 
crimes, were now expiating them in very deed, or the 
innocent and free (?) goalers, whose duty it was to 
pace up and down these gloomy yards and corridors to 
prevent attempts at escape. 

“Do you ever use those revolvers ?” he asked, 
pointing to the one in the hand of his guide. 

“ Certainly,” exclaimed the goaler, “ we see a 
man escaping, and we fire without warning.” 

“ Do you ever kill any one ?” 

“ In the town, often,” was the reply ; “ if at any 
of the bars there is a disturbance, or any of the con- 
victs let out for the day cause trouble, we just fire 
indiscriminately, and sometimes several are killed and 
wounded.” 

After which piece of information he proceeded to 
take Arthur round the cells, but though he looked 
into each one, no face like that of Deauville, was 
there. And what faces he did see.. There are few 


220 


THE PRISONS. 


criminals who look the part more thoroughly than the 
felons from the slums of Paris. For the most part, 
small, undersized, little beings, with the most evil cast 
of countenance it had ever been the lot of our hero to 
behold. And when he looked at them, and read the 
cruel expression of those eyes, he felt that surely it 
was not crime to shoot them down when they escaped ; 
or was it to be wondered at that the authorities 
were so insouciants as to their ultimate fate, if any of 
these worthies managed to give them the slip and sail 
for foreign lands. And to some remark which slightly 
inferred what he thought, the goaler answered. 

“ Ma foi , vous avez raison , la canaille ! and yet, 
though some of them are thrice dyed murderers, we 
keep them here.” 

“ How do you mean ?” said Arthur, “ don’t you 
hang them if they commit a murder?” 

“ Presque jamais . A man gets another term of 
penal servitude. There are some men here, Monsieur, 
who have as many as five hundred years to serve ; no 
wonder the law, after a time, for them ceases to con- 
tain any terrors. A man with a few hundred years of 
penal servitude does not distress himself very greatly 
of what the future will bring, and if he wishes to com- 


THE PRISONS. 


231 


mit a murder, the fear of consequences is not likely to 
deter him.” 

“ Is it possible,” said Arthur, “ but where are we 
going now ?” 

“ To the hospital,” explained his guide, “ the man 
you seek may be in there.” 

The hospital was a large, airy building, or rather, 
suite of buildings, and round it was laid out the most 
beautiful garden that Arthur had ever seen, such a 
garden as only a tropical country could contain, where 
palm trees and over hanging ferns spread their shadows 
almost to the water’s edge, a water which was fringed 
with coral rocks and sparkling sand. And upon the 
benches in this luxurious spot sat or reclined the con- 
victs in various attitudes of repose. What joy for 
them to be unwell — the greatest joy that life could 
have would be that their health might fail. 

All through the hospitals they went, Arthur and 
his communicative guide. If only he would talk less 
of a patois , thought our hero, then perhaps I might 
not lose so much of the information he appears anxious 
to give me, for, as it is, I have only just succeeded in 
wrestling with, and making out his meaning, when he 


222 


THE PRISONS. 


brandies off into a fresh remark which is almost more 
than I can interpret. 

“ Have 1 seen everything?” he said at last, in tones 
of disappointment, u is there no other place where my 
man may be ?” 

“ Only one place, Monsieur.” 

“ And that ?” 

“ The punishment cells.” 

“ And what are they ?” 

“ The confinement given to a man who won’t 
work.” 

“ Solitary confinement ?” 

“ Oh, no, he is chained to another, and shut up in 
a dark cell for a month.” 

Arthur could scarcely refrain from an exclamation 
of horror. 

“ It seldom fails,” continued the goaler, " they soon 
wish for work.” 

“ I should think so, what a punishment !” 

“ Shall we visit them ?” asked the man. 

“ Certainly.” And accordingly he opened a door. 
The interior was pitch dark, and to them standing in 
the light, might have been entirely empty. Then as 
their eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, they 


THE PRISONS. 


223 


could see two forms crouched upon the floor, chained 
together by a ponderous chain. The expression on 
those men’s faces will haunt Arthur to his dying day. 

“Is he there?” asked the goaler. 

“ No.” Then they moved on to the next, till 
they had visited all these ghastly dens without result. 

“Poor devils,” said Dacre, as they closed the door 
of one of these prisons upon its silent inmates, and he 
almost felt glad in his heart that it was not given to 
him to find the Comte de Deauville, whom he had 
last seen in the zenith of his glory, thrust away 
into such a terrible hole as this. 

“ Well, Monsieur, nous avons Jmi 

“Are there no more?” 

“ No, excepting the men who are at work in the 
town, and your man could scarcely be there, seeing 
that he has been here so short a while and convicted 
of so great a crime.” 

Tired, disappointed, and disheartened, Arthur 
retraced his steps to the Commandant’s house. 

“ We have not found him,” he said. 

“I feared not,” replied his host, “during your 
absence I have been looking up the records of the 
prison ; I have found the name, here it is ” — he contin- 


224 


THE PRISONS. 


ued, pointing to the centre of a long column in one of 
his heavy books “ Deauville — murderer — committed a 
forgery in Paris — forgery detected by the victim he 
had thus robbed — he went to his house and accused 
him — Deauville shot and killed him — he (the prisoner) 
arrived here in one of the last batches from France.” 

“And where is he now?” asked Arthur, eagerly. 

“Escaped,” replied the Commandant, with non- 
chalance. 

“Escaped? Where to?” cried the Englishman, in 
a voice of entreaty, as he felt his dreams of vengeance 
thus vanishing from sight. 

“ Quisait ?” replied the other, “ probably drowned.” 

“Drowned!” and now Arthur realized to the full 
extent what that word might mean, — drowned — and 
with him all hope of obtaining proof of Joe’s villainy, 
all hope of saving Edith from her terrible fate. 
“How can I find out?” he asked. 

“You cannot find out,” answered the Comman- 
dant. There was a pause after this dircouraging 
reply, then Arthur began again. 

“Do all escaped convicts go to sea?” 

“If they can get a boat, they do.” 

“ And if they can’t? ” 


THE PRISONS. 


225 


“ Well,” smiled the great man, “If they can’t, they 
don’t go to sea, no human being can swim from here 
to Australia.” 

“ Well, they can’t get away, then,” continued 
Arthur, eagerly. 

“But they can,” replied his host, “the island is 
large — there is the bush.” 

“ Oh,” said Arthur, suddenly grasping his mean- 
ing, “ they escape up country, and hide in the bush.” 

The Commandant nodded. 

“ Don’t you rout them out ? ” 

“ Why should we ? there are too many of them ; 
there is a regular colony of them, there are villages up 
there where live men whose time here has expired, 
and who prefer to remain here to returning home ; 
these harbor those who escape. It would not pay to send 
troops after them, and besides, they take good care to 
keep out of our way — what more do we care ?” 

“ Do you think it is likely that Deauville may be 
there?” went on Arthur, after a moment’s thought. 

“ I didn’t say it was likely, I said it was possible.” 

“ I will go there and see.” 

“ Mon Dieu monsieur ,” exclaimed the Command- 
ant, all animation now, “ what would you do ? Go 
10 * 


226 


THE PRISONS. 


and see ? Good heavens, yon do not know what you 
propose. If you found your man, what then ? And 
it is hundreds to one against such a chance, but it is 
about even betting that you would never return alive, 
they would be almost certain to rob and kill you.” 

“ Why, has no one ever been there ?” asked Arthur. 

“ Some people have, but you, an Englishman, and 
alone, why, it would be madness.” 

“ If you say anyone has already been there, then 
will I go,” said Arthur firmly. “ I hope, M. Le Com_ 
mandant, that you may have exaggerated the dangers 
of such a trifling expedition, and I trust you will wish 
me luck. Now I must be ofi,” he continued, tC I have 
already enroached too much upon your valuable time. 
I am exceedingly obliged to you, and shall ever retain 
a pleasant recollection of your great courtesy and 
kindness” and holding out his hand, Arthur prepared 
to leave. 

The Commandant took it. u Adieu, Monsieur ” 
he said, “ bon voyage , et beaucoup de chance ,” and then, 
as his visitor disappeared down the gravel walk, he 
turned into the house muttering to himself, “ il est 
fou , mais il est Anglais ; (test la meme chose que 
voulez-vous ?” 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


227 


CHAPTEK XX. 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


“ What might be ! the dreams were scattered 
As chaff is tossed by the wind, 

The faith has been rudely shattered 

That listened with credence blind. 

Things were to have been, and therefore, 

They were and they are to be 
And will be — we must prepare for 

The doom we are bound to dree.” — Gordon. 

O NCE having made up his mind, Arthur was not 
slow to act. It did not take him long to com- 
plete his arrangements. He obtained a map, such as 
it was, of the country, procured the best horse he 
could find, packed a couple of saddle bags, and despite 
the remonstrances of those who heard of his intention, 
started off to the interior of the country. 

Accustomed to life in the bush, and the finding of 
his way in unknown places, he did not experience 
much difficulty in steering by his compass, in the 
direction of the largest settlement, where he had been 
told he would be most likely to hear news of the 


228 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


object of his search. But the going was not easy, the 
bush was thick, and in many parts impenetrable 
Sometimes he got off the track, and before he could 
hit upon it again, was obliged to dismount, and for 
perhaps a couple of miles literally cut his way through 
the dense undergrowth and creepers. But there was 
more than one track through the jungle, and he gen- 
erally had the luck to hit upon some kind of outlet 
before he had been very long at this kind of work. 

The first night he camped out, his saddle for a pil- 
low, and a sheltering palm tree for a tent. A little 
creek ran close by, and here he watered his horse, 
likewise refreshing himself. 

Of what did he think as he lay there all alone in 
the dense forest ? Well, I do not imagine he thought 
at all. 

When a person is engaged upon a dangerous and 
perhaps reckless enterprise, it is not in the first few 
days that he will stop to think, for during the day- 
time he is too busy surmounting difficulties, and 
endeavoring io succeed in his self-imposed task ; the 
night he is too busy also, in obtaining that sleep of 
which he is so greatly in need. 

* About noon of the second day, our traveller espied 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


229 


smoke curling up in the distant haze, — here then was 
a settlement — here, perhaps, he should gain the infor- 
mation which he sought, and once more his heart beat 
high with hope. The settlement turned out to be merely 
a few huts, rudely constructed, chiefly of bamboos and 
cane, very pleasant abodes in hot weather, and it is 
always more or less hot in that country, but far from 
comfortable during the rains, and in a tropical cli- 
mate, when it does rain, it certainly does not play at it. 
But Arthur had little time to speculate, upon the 
amount of comfort likely to be found in a house con- 
structed of bamboos, for the people of this primi- 
tive city soon collected at the sound of his horse’s 
hoofs. They were six, all men. And as Arthur 
looked upon their faces, he began to realize what sort 
of a job he had so recklessly undertaken, in spite of 
the warnings of those officials at Noumea, who were 
not by any means unaccustomed to danger, or likely to 
overrate the amount of peril he might be called upon 
to encounter. Bnt this was not a time for self- 
reproach, or looking back ; here were the men he 
sought — the men who could give him the information 
for which he thirsted, and what did it matter to him 


230 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


that their countenances were evil, and their whole 
appearance indicative of the villainous nature within. 

What thorough-going blackguards, he thought ; 
and small wonder. The worst type of communist, or 
the sweepings of a Paris prison, do not improve 
through confinement in an island like Noumea, and if 
you can picture to yourself these same individuals liv- 
ing the life of a dog, in the bush, hiding from justice, 
and at any moment liable to be shot by the authori- 
ties ; without means or money for flying further from 
the fate they dread, you will scarcely feel astonish- 
ment that the faces of these people were the reverse 
of pleasant to behold. 

However, they received our hero with some show 
of civility, and were cordial enough ; they invited him 
to their houses and offered him refreshment, such as it 
was. They were armed, he saw, although their weap- 
ons were something marvellous in the way of muskets, 
these probably having been procured from the natives, 
who in their turn purchase them from unscrupulous 
traders, who wish to secure “ labor ” to work on the 
plantations, and acquire the same by means of this, to 
a native, most tempting bait. A man would sell the 
greater part of his tribe for a gun, so much so, that 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


231 


the English law has made it illegal to give a weapon 
to a native, though, if I mistake not the French law 
remains unaltered, which, though it enables the Eng- 
lish trader to have a lighter conscience, also permits 
his rival, who is French, carrying a heavier cargo 
of “ labor ” to the market which will pay for the 
same. 

Arthur naturally plied his hosts with questions of 
Deauville. They had not heard of him, and they, he 
thought, exchanged rather significant glances when he 
explained his mission. After he had enjoyed a brief 
rest, they told him that, if he wished to reaoh the next 
village before sundown, he had better be off. 

There were, they said, about twenty men who lived 
on the seashore, around the large rocky caves with 
which the cliffs abounded, at the further point of the 
island. One of these men might possibly be Deauville 
himself, and if not, doubtless, had he been there, they 
could give him the information as to his whereabouts 
which he required. 

Thanking them, our hero remounted his horse, and 
followed the track they showed him. So far, though 
disappointed in his quest, he was pleased, pleased to 
find the men so civil, and ready to help him as much 


232 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


as they were able. He had always prided himself 
upon his tact and knowledge in the art of managing 
mankind, therefore he now laughed a little self-satis- 
fied laugh, as he rode away. 

‘‘Treat people well,” he said to himself, “and 
they will do the same by you. Now, if those gentle- 
men yonder had been Dukes in disguise, they could 
not have been more civil or polite ; they appreciated 
my manner, and have rewarded me with their assis- 
tance.” 

It is an innocent conceit enough, this consciousness 
that one has more tact and savoirfaire than one’s neigh- 
bours. And yet what a rock it may prove in a person’s 
path, for a few trifling successes through these means, 
are so very apt to exhilarate the mind, that this obser- 
vant individual is perhaps rather more off his guard 
than less knowing people, and so confident in his own 
knowledge of men, and his power of adapting himself 
to their peculiar ways, that he often walks blindfold 
into danger through this very self-confidence engen- 
dered by a cherished conceit. 

Thus Arthur rode along, congratulating himself 
upon having so cleverly won the goodwill of his late 
companions, while these astute individuals, who had 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


283 


so warmly reciprocated his courtesy, were making 
tracks across the bush through short cuts, and across 
occasional streams, just as fast as their legs could carry 
them. 

They had sent the courteous stranger by a long 
roundabout route, which it would take him at least 
three hours to traverse, while they themselves were 
nipping across country, and would by a rough calcula- 
tion, anticipate his arrival by at least an hour. 

It was a funny tableau, if one had only time and 
inclination to stop and think about it, this little com- 
edy which was taking place in the heart of the tangled 
bush in this far-away tropical island, — a tableau, too, 
not without a moral, but I cannot stay to point it, even 
should such point adorn my tale, for when a man is 
alone, and riding innocently into a terrible danger, it 
is neither right nor proper to delay his fate, by digress- 
ing for one’s own personal ends. 

We, too, have tact, and pride ourselves thereon, 
although, alas, each frightful shipwreck upon the rock 
of self conceit only serves to rivet our confidence in 
this belief in self. 

And now as there is a time for all things let me at 
once describe how, after a tedious ride in a boiling 


234 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


sun, Arthur arrived at the end of the bush ; the track 
opened out, and before him was the sea, beyond it the 
coral reef, and again beyond, the world, that world 
which here seemed almost as though it existed not at all. 

The coast was rocky, and great cliffs were rearing 
their stately heights in the distance away upon his 
right hand side. Upon his left the dazzling sand lay 
sparkling in the sun. The waves lapped gently upon 
its glittering surface, which seemed to drink in eag- 
erly, with all devouring thirst, those cool and grateful 
ripples, detaining as much of their moisture as they 
could, as though they grudged that backward flow. 

“By Jove, this isn’t bad for a picture,” thought 
Arthur, “ but how about the practical side of it, I 
wonder ” —and as he spoke, he looked around him. 

Yes, the practical side was there. Behind him 
stood some twenty men, ten of whom were pointing 
rifles and guns at his head, as though about to fire a 
volley, and among the faces of this little crowd, he 
thought he recognized those cheerfully evil ones of his 
morning’s hosts. His first impulse was to draw his 
pistol. 

“ Attention ,” cried a voice, belonging, as it seemed, 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


235 


to the leader of this extremely bloodthirsty looking 
party, “ give up your pistol — throw up your hands — 
and let us search you, or you are a dead man.” 

All this, as may be supposed was spoken in French, 
but for the convenience of my readers, I will translate 
as I write. 

Luckily for Arthur, he understood that language. 
Had he not, doubtless his first impulse would have 
been carried out, and he would have drawn that pis- 
tol. Had he done so, in all probability he would not 
have lived another moment ; but as it was, recognis- 
ing the fact that discretion was here of the very great- 
est importance, he kept his valor for appearance only, 
and in the boldest tones he could assume, demanded 
what they wanted of him, at the same time to show 
the peacefulness of his intentions, he held his hands 
above his head. 

Without answer, two of the party approached him 
— those with the rifles still covered his head, — and 
promptly possessed themselves of his pistol and knife ; 
then they said “ dismount.” 

Feeling very small, and very, very angry, Arthur 
did as he was bid. He began to think now, that he 
was in rather an evil case — the landscape might be 


236 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


beautiful, but the lords of the manor were certainly 
very far from friendly. He commenced to demand an 
explanation, when the individual who had first spo- 
ken, turning to his men, in a voice of command 
said : 

“ Put up your rifles.” 

They obeyed as readily as soldiers on parade ; then 
addressing himself to his prisoner with mock polite- 
ness, said : 

“ Monsieur, you have been sent to us by Provi- 
dence. There has, until lately, dwelt among us a 
young man who ministered to our wants ; we gave 
him an excellent training, and instructed him in 
all the arts of being a servant. He was doing fairly 
well, and becoming useful to the whole community, 
when Monsieur dix huit was dissatisfied with him last 
week, and let his feelings so carry him away, that he 
deprived us of this valuable domestic — he lies buried 
over there — ” he went on, pointing to a little spot in 
the wood, where the earth seemed newly turned. 
“ Therefore, as I said before, you have been provided 
by Providence to take his place, and what is better 
still, your own forethought has provided you with a 
few little luxuries,” pointing to his pistol and saddle- 


AMONG CONVICTS. 


237 


bags, “ which will insure you a more hearty welcome 
than ever.” 

And turning towards his companions, for approval, 
the speaker paused, then smiling with satisfaction at 
the assent upon their faces, he continued : 

“ Monsieur, your duties will commence from this 
moment — carry these to the cave after us.” 

And he pointed to a bundle of wood which had 
evidently been collected for fuel. 

Half dazed at this summary way of arranging his 
future fate, Arthur looked about him, as though seek- 
ing some means of escape from the terrible situation 
in which he found himself. The speaker divining his 
thoughts smiled most disagreeably, as he said : 

“ Monsieur le domestique , may look for help — but 
he will scarcely find it, but if Monsieur is too proud 
to carry these bundles — eh bleu” and he pointed poor 
Arthur’s own revolver at his head in a threatening 
manner. 

There was nothing for it but to obey the brute, 
and without a word, our hero picked up the bundle, 
and tucked it uuder his arm, and as he did so, he 
could scarce forbear a smile at his own expense. 

He had but just escaped being shot by these ruf- 


238 


AN ESCAPE. 


fians, and yet his present position, as contrasted with 
his thoughts of this morning, were so opposite that he 
was obliged to smile. 

What a fool he had been, and in what a foolish 
paradise he had spent the last few days. It was a 
great descent to find that paradise lost, and himself 
carrying bundles, the menial slave of the greatest 
human scum that ever lived upon the earth. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

AN ESCAPE. 

“ With adverse fate we best can cope, 

When all we prize has fled, 

And where there’s little left to hope, 

There’s little left to dread.”— Gordon. 

I T is little use to describe in detail all Arthur’s suf- 
fering during this long time of misery. He had 
set out, his heart beating high with hope, to accom- 
plish a self-imposed task, whereby he would unravel 
the skein of mystery which surrounded the story of 
his ruin, and avert a lifetime of misfortune from fall- 
ing on the head of the girl he loved. 


AN ESCAPE. 


239 


He was now a prisoner in the heart of Hew Cale- 
donia — the prisoner of a collection of villains, the pick 
of the prisons of France. And not only a prisoner, 
but a servant. 

He had once smiled at the story otf the two young 
Englishmen in the bush, who had been compelled to 
wait upon the robbers of their house, arrayed in all the 
glory of dress- clothes and white ties. He little thought 
then, that it would not be so very long before he too 
was in a similar predicament, but one which was 
greatly exaggerated for the worse. In the former 
case, the conclusion of the meal had put an end to 
their servitude, in the present, there seemed absolutely 
no limit to the time he would be forced to wait upon 
his self appointed masters, for he did wait upon them, 
morning, noon and night ; obliged also to submit to 
foul language, and of times cruel treatment. 

The habitation of these desperadoes was in some 
of the large caves which abound in the rocky cliffs, 
and part of Arthur’s duties was to light the fire, fetch 
water from the neighboring spring, and also do the 
cooking. 

It was rather comical, he thought, that he should 
be a cook. Fancy if his yellow faced Chinaman, who 


240 


AN ESCAPE. 


had been wont to prepare his meals at Currendore, 
could but see him now. Fancy if his former friends 
and companions could see him, Arthur Dacre, stirring 
pots upon the fire, as though his life depended upon 
the motion of that wooden spoon. 

Oh, yes, of course, it was very comic, aud he 
smiled rather bitterly to himself, not altogether unable 
to refrain from a view of the ludicrous side of his 
occupation. 

But it was also very pathetic ; where was his 
revenge now ? Where was his discovery of Deau- 
ville, his rescue of Edith from the hands of the man 
who had, by such foul means, stolen her from him ; 

Ah, where ! he was powerless now. Had Darvell 
but known it, another of his enemies had gone under ; 
fate seemed to fight on his side — first Deauville, then 
himself ; he, Darvell, had nothing to fear, and as far 
as could at present be expected, was likely to continue 
his cheerful career to the end of his days. 

And Edith — would she ever know — would the 
man have the decency to keep his means of livelihood 
from her ? Would the secret of his wealth be hidden, 
or would he brutally disclose to her the real character 
of the man she had wedded \ No, he couldn’t. 


AN ESCAPE. 


241 


Joe was a gentleman, or rather a fellow who had 
always seemed so, outwardly, as far as manners and 
refinement went, and it was scarcely likely that he 
would care to be despised by his wife so soon after 
their marriage. No, at least she will be spared that 
terrible awakening, thought Arthur, as he staggered 
along in the sun, beneath those heavy buckets of 
water, while close by he could hear the laughter of his 
coarse companions, as they lay on their backs in the 
shade. 

He had got scarcely to mind them now ; as for- 
merly, he had taught himself to meet troubles without 
the additional trouble of worrying thereupon ; so now 
he lived as best he could, and with all the strength of 
mind which he possessed, endeavored to prevent him- 
self from dwelling upon the horrors of his present 
position, or harboring bitter thoughts about the fate 
which had overtaken him. 

No, what was the use ? He had gone, it is true 
from bad to worse — but was that any reason for sing- 
ing out, or rendering himself doubly miserable by 
railing at his lot ? 

No, “when in a fix, just keep your head cool, 
11 


242 


AN ESCAPE. 


never worry, and hope for the best he had once 
striven to instil into his mind, and here then, was 
a grand opportunity for carrying out this philos- 
ophy. And when the convicts cursed him or abused 
him for his cooking — and at this he himself would 
never wonder, — he would think well, it might have 
been worse, it is something to be alive ; if their last 
menial had not gone to happier realms, it is little 
likely that I should have been allowed to continue 
to inhabit this beautiful island. 

But though he thus bore his lot with apparent 
complacency, and called his resignation philosophy, he 
would sometimes smile bitterly when he thought of 
Daurent, and how, if that gentleman could see him 
now, he would be perhaps once more justified in com- 
paring him to an ass and its burden. 

Yes, there was the burden, sure enough — but was 
he an ass? 

“ Well, I think not,” he would tell himself, “we 
will see. One should never judge altogether by ap- 
pearances, one may get taken in ” — yes, as Joe had 
taken him in— would prompt a little demon in his 
memory who delighted to dig incisive pin pricks into 


AN ESCAPE. 


243 


this young man’s self cogitations ; but Arthur shook 
him off with a laugh. 

u Yes, once bitten twice shy ; now it is my turn to 
take others in as others once took me.” 

It is really wonderful how a man who began life 
believing in himself continues in that blissful serenity 
till the end of his days. He may receive the rudest 
shocks, his faith may be shaken, his credulity in his 
own powers uprooted, on an average of once a week, 
and yet, while acknowledging the defeat, the smile 
of satisfaction but goes to prove that the possessor 
intends to profit by his mistakes and feels therefore, 
a far greater confidence than ever lie did before. 

But the task our hero now set himself was no 
light one, for to resolve to deceive by present appear- 
ances and baulk suspicion by a semblance of submis- 
sion, was nothing more nor less than a determination 
to outwit about the sharpest gang of ruffians who had 
ever banded together for their own protection. 

But yet this is what Arthur meditated, as he cooked 
their tinned meats, and stirred the billy with a spoon, 
attending to the commands of his masters with an 
obedience which did credit to his capability as an 
actor. 


244 


AN ESCAPE. 


He would escape, but he would bide his time. 
How he would escape he knew not — but tout vient d 
qui sait attendre , and therefore, he would wait and 
see what would turn up. 

However, many a man’s spirit might have been 
broken by this terrible position and its apparent hope- 
lessness. 

Of time he had lost count ; in reality Arthur had 
been living among the convicts for six months — all he 
knew was that it seemed an eternity, and he had given 
up all hopes of ever finding Deauville, or even if he 
did, of preventing Edith’s marriage with Darvell. 

Of course they were married now — well, it was no 
use disturbing her happiness, if she were happy — but 
if she weren’t — and here he clenched his teeth — he 
would go for Darvell without mercy, and who knows 
but that in the end she might become his after all ; 
and the smile upon his face indicated that he was 
indulging in all the sweetness of triumph and 
revenge, when he was recalled to the stern reality by 
a voice shouting angrily for him to make haste, for 
the owner of that voice — “ avait bigrement faim . ’ ’ 

If no other benefit accrued to him from his long 
stay among those brutes, Arthur felt that at any rate 


AN ESCAPE. 


245 


lie should have enriched his vocabulary as regards the 
French language, and that he would be quite capable 
of taking part in any conversation in the lowest bouis- 
bouis in Paris. 

Paris — by Jove, fancy a dinner at the Cafe 
Anglais — a dinner in the “ Grand Seize” and our 
hero almost smacked his lips at the very idea. 

If ever I get to Paris, he thought, how my knowl- 
edge of argot would astonish the minds of my 
French friends. They will wonder where on earth I 
could have picked it up. But would they have a 
chance of wondering ? 

Well, to make a long story short, perhaps they 
would, for Arthur escaped, and this is liow he did it. 

One night, watching his opportunity, he dashed 
into the bush. He had prepared this coup by his stud- 
ied deference to the will of his masters, and the affec- 
ted indifference of his manner — thus their vigilance 
was lessened. 

But as he ran, the sentry saw him, for a watch was 
always kept. He gave the alarm, and a volley of bul- 
lets told our hero that he had better make tracks if he 
wished to preserve his skin. 

He was not hit, and now was his time. If he 


246 


AN ESCAPE. 


could but reach that dark, black shadow which was the 
opening into the bush, before they winged him, or 
could manage by means of his own horse to overtake 
him, then he would be safe. 

Safe? Yes, but what kind of safety ? Out of the 
frying pan into the fire kind, he thought, while run- 
ning as he had not believed he could run before. 

The night was tolerably dark, and therefore it is 
scarcely surprising that, armed only witli the antede- 
luvian old muskets which they had from time to time 
procured from the natives, the convicts missed their 
mark. 

They cursed at him, and they yelled at him to 
stop, but it was not very likely that Arthur was going 
to listen to those loud coarse tones, or throw himself 
upon the tender mercies of the speakers, if he could 
help it. 

No, a thousand times rather would I die in the 
bush, he thought, than once again live amongst that 
loathsome canaille. 

And so he ran, till at length, panting and perspir- 
ing, for the climate in those latitudes is seldom 
adapted for exertion, he reached the desired haven, 


AN ESCAPE. 


347 


the bush, home of the wandering pig, and haunt of the 
mosquito. 

Well, here he was, in the bush. Now, what was 
he to do next ? 

It was all very well to tell himself he was safe — so 
he was, from pursuit, for as he went darting about in 
and out amongst the dense foliage and undergrowth, 
it was not very likely that his enemies would ever find 
him, even if they cared to trust themselves in that 
pathless labyrinth to search ; but what was almost as 
little likely still was that he should ever find himself, 
or rather his way, for already he realized that he 
was quite hopelessly lost. 

Yes, he might find himself, he might very well 
find himself back once again where he started. 

People in the bush have a tendency to roam in 
circles, and it was quite possible that after hours of 
walking and wrestling with those hairy creepers, he 
might only discover that he was at the starting 
point once more, and about to run his head against 
the cliffs which sheltered his late lords and masters. 

“ Never, no, hang it all, I won’t go in a circle,” he 
declared, “I’ll just go straight on, I must get out 
somewhere, the whole island can’t be more than a 


248 


AN ESCAPE. 


few days’ journey across, and if I keep straight, I 
ought to strike the sea somehow.” 

But a few days’ journey, when one is mostly 
obliged to crawl on all fours through the bush, may 
very well resolve itself into a week or even two, sup- 
posing that one made progress as straight as a die ; and 
a week in the bush without food or drink was — well, 
to say the least of it, a far from exhilarating prospect. 

But at present it scarcely seemed so to our hero, for 
to escape from his late captors was exhilaration, and 
to be alone in the bush, and entire master of his own 
actions, was in itself a joy. And he little bothered 
his head about the future. 

All he knew was that he was free, and that it be- 
hoved him to make as good use of his time as he was 
able, by increasing the distance between himself and 
those who threatened to interfere with that freedom. 

All that night he wandered on, hot, tired, bruised, 
and torn ; the thorns stuck into him, the creepers 
wound themselves about his body, the mosquitoes 
trumpeted loud around his ears, and the pigs grunted 
as he disturbed them from their rest. 

It was certainly far from pleasant, but he stuck to 
it, and by morning was able to suppose that he had 


AN ESCAPE. 


249 


made considerable progress, although the scene around 
him was precisely similar to the one which he had at 
any time looked upon since he started. 

There were tree ferns, palms, bushes, and mosqui- 
toes, just as there were some hours ago, and now, 
added to all this, there arose a sun, a sun which he 
well knew would boil all things into feverish life, 
cause the birds to flap their wings, the pigs to rise and 
run, and himself to pant with renewed exhaustion and 
fatigue. 

He was pretty done now, and suffering from thirst 
— surely he must soon strike a creek, if he didn’t, he 
would be obliged to give in. 

But luck had it that he should find a creek ; not 
very marvellous, after all, since there are plenty in 
that damp climate — and the water, as he drank it, 
tasted to him as good as the proverbial nectar, which 
water, when we are very much athirst, is supposed to 
represent. 

Refreshed and invigorated, Arthur started again on 
his aimless journey, and after another three hours of 
this wearisome toil, during which time he felt uncom- 
monly hungry, the bush became lighter, the under- 
growth a trifle less dense. 

11 * 


250 


AN ESCAPE. 


Could it be possible lie was coming to an outlet ? 
Had Providence interposed to save him ? 

Well, as to the latter I will not offer an opinion, 
but that he had come to an outlet was true, for in a 
few minutes time, there before him lay the sea — the 
open sea ; beyond the sea, as usual, he saw the inevit- 
able reef of coral, and once again, beyond the reef, he 
did’nt see, but fancied that he saw, the world — Aus- 
tralia, Europe, England, and a multitude of other 
inhabited countries of the globe ; and there he stood 
stock still, to gaze upon this picture his imagination 
had summoned forth. 

But when tired of gazing at these vague shadows 
across the water, his eyes, perhaps dazzled by the 
glare, looked down nearer home, or rather nearer to 
his feet, and there sure enough they did see some- 
thing. 

Ho illusion about what he looked on now — it was 
a canoe, about the most solid and least shadowy canoe, 
he thought, he had ever seen. 

Whose was it? Well, that didn’t matter at all; 
whose it was was a matter of history, for now it had 
changed hands, and at this moment belonged to him. 

Therefore, without a second’s hesitation, as he 


AN ESCAPE. 


251 


munched a piece of the dry biscuit which he had 
secreted in his pocket before his flight, Arthur annexed 
this vessel, and seating himself therein, almost mechan- 
ically paddled out to sea. 

Yes, without so much as thinking about it, he 
stepped into the canoe and started towards the reef. 

It was a thing he might never have done, had he 
sat still and thought thereon, but yon will understand 
those countries he saw beyond the reef had thrown 
him into a kind of reverie, which rendered him as 
absent-minded as he had ever been before. 

And thus our hero quietly seated himself and set 
sail, or rather used paddle, for Europe, England and 
home. 

But not even alone, upon a glassy sea, in a pictur- 
esque canoe, somebody else’s canoe, can one indulge 
in reverie absolutely undisturbed. 

Something or somebody is almost certain to appear 
upon the scene, and drag the unwilling dreamer back 
to the realities of this prosaic life ; and thus some- 
thing, or rather somebody, appeared at this moment, 
and reminded Arthur of the former history of his 
newly acquired canoe. Two figures waved at him, 


252 


AN ESCAPE. 


two mouths shouted at him, four arms brandished 
spears at him. 

The words of these figures were unintelligible to 
him as to language, but it was scarcely difficult to 
interpret them into a tolerably forcible expression of 
the desire of the speakers, that he should steer his 
canoe — or rather their canoe, back again to shore. 

But any effect their words might have had upon 
its present occupant, was quite lost by those arms 
which were so suggestively wagging at the handle end 
of the long and heavy spears. 

No,' I may be persuaded by kindness, thought 
the now distant object in the canoe, but driven by 
threats — never. 

And thus he sat rejoicing at the prompt fore- 
thought which had induced him to possess himself of 
this means of transit. 

Had the canoe had a hole in the bottom, he would 
probably have cursed his absent-mindedness, but as it 
was, he congratulated himself, and in the first feelings 
of delight which such congratulation caused him to 
experience, for all answer to those demoniacal looking 
gentlemen, who were now capering about as though 


AN ESCAPE. 


253 


bereft — and they were bereft — of their canoe — he 
momentarily permitted the tip of his nose to come in 
contact with the tip of his thumb, while extending 
the palm of his hand in token of a last adieu ; then 
nodding his head, he dipped the paddle into the sea 
and once again started off for Europe, England and 
home, but in earnest this time. 

Did he get there ? Well, no, not exactly, yet. 

Did he ever get there? Well, if you have 
patience you shall see. But at present the canoe went 
gaily on till he reached the reef. Outside the reef the 
water was not quite so smooth, and Arthur now began 
to think, that if the natives could see down into his 
innermost heart, they too would feel disposed to 
exhibit delight, by the laying of their thumbs against 
their broad and ugly noses ; for to tell the truth, he 
didn’t quite like it — and no wonder. 

It is all very well to escape from danger, and glide 
quietly and safely upon the glittering surface of a 
glassy sea, but when that same glassy sea becomes 
hilly, and valleyey, and altogether impracticable for 
purposes of gliding, well, — then, one is inclined to 
wonder how it was we ever did see anything to like in 
this excessively disagreeable performance. 


254 


AN ESCAPE. 


And now the sea rose, and the canoe rose too, but 
it also went down — the sea didn’t, and after it (the 
canoe) had risen to the top of a gigantic wave, it 
would proceed to fall into a very valley of water 
beneath. 

Yes, it was the frying pan — the bush had been fry- 
ing in it heat — into the fire, or rather water, for no 
one could have likened those chilly waves to any kind 
of fire, except to that of rage. 

Would the canoe live — would it be capsized— would 
he after all be drowned ? 

These not unnatural questions Arthur began to ask 
himself as soon as those painted warriors were out of 
sight, and he was bobbing up, far from serenely, upon 
the topmost crest of angry waves. 

That the canoe would not capsize was pretty evi- 
dent — it was a cork — or at any rate acted like one ; 
that he would not be drowned was far from being so 
certain, for he had no compass, no means of telling 
where he was, and besides, if he had, he was much 
too occupied in baling out his craft to think of making 
for any direction in particular, and so he sat still and 
baled, and wondered what would happen next. 

Suspense is always unpleasant — danger, however 


AN ESCAPE. 


255 


real, is according to my mind, far more preferable of 
the two. And thus when a good old-fashioned storm 
arose, and blew the boat like a feather across the sur- 
face of the sea, Arthur felt that here was the end. 
He must inevitably fetch up upon one or another of 
the islands which probably lay all around, or he must 
be blown out to sea, and done for. 

Yes, it was the end of the suspense of whether the 
sea would go down and allow of his once more resum- 
ing his paddle, but it was scarcely an end altogether, 
for, as you see, there might be two ends ; one end on 
land, the other end at sea. But at this moment our 
hero was so excessively busy sitting tight, and sticking 
to the boat like a limpet on a rock, that he could not 
split straws about his future fate. 

It is popularly supposed that on these occasions of 
direst peril, one lives one’s whole life o’er again — 
people come and talk to you, while old scenes move 
before your face in panoramic order. There is the 
cradle in which we rocked, the nurse who smacked us, 
the schoolmaster who caned us ; all feelings of anger 
are passed, we love the one and freely forgive the 
other. 

Then there is the dun who dunned us, and the girl 


256 


AN ESCAPE. 


who jilted us. Ah, yes, they were so right, and we so 
in the wrong ; and thus the dear old life and old, old 
scenes go flitting by, one and all, to be forgiven, and 
one, only one, to bear the blame, and that poor wight 
ourselves ; that poor miserable being who is hurrying 
on to certain doom. 

Now from this I differ. Whenever I have been in 
any extremity of danger, 1 always felt more than ordi- 
narily busy — I really had no time to look about me 
for panoramas of the past, and if I had, I doubt very 
much whether the beliefs and feelings of a lifetime 
would undergo such swift transition as they are sup- 
posed to do. 

My head, perhaps, is the thing at fault ; it may not 
be large enough to contain two sets of lives at once, 
the life of the present and the life of the past, and 
when in the present there exists a real and tangible 
danger, I am totally unable to worry myself anent the 
trifles of a long departed past. 

My cradle — forsooth ! My schoolmaster — faugh ! 
Let me keep the waves from upsetting the boat, let 
me hang on to the gunwale as best I can, let me look 
about me for some possible means of escape — but for 
goodness’ sake do not let me become a silly, thought- 


AN ESCAPE. 


257 


less, thought-occupied fool, just at this one moment of 
all others, when it is so very necessary that my wits 
should not be looking for wool, or dwelling upon 
recollections done and gone. 

And Arthur gripped the boat, and never thought 
upon his cradled days at all, but when he saw what he 
imagined looked like land in the distance, then he 
thought — but neither of the past nor the present. He 
thought of the future, and wondered, with all his 
might, what kind of land that was, or what people he 
might discover there, if his life be spared, and his 
little craft conveyed in safety toward that unknown 


coast. 


258 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


“ So the coward will dare on the gallant horse, 

What he never would dare alone, 

Because he exults in a borrowed force, 

And a hardihood not his own.” — Gordon. 

S the wind began to blow directly towards land, 



l\ it was not very long before upon the compar- 
atively smooth water on the further side of the reef, 
Arthur was once again able to paddle his own canoe. 

Yes, here he was safe — his most ardent wish had 
been realized. He had never wished for anything so 
much in all his life as that, by some miracle, he might 
be left afloat until he made the land. 

The miracle had occurred, his wish was fulfilled, 
and here he was. 

Was he content ? Hot at all. Ho one ever is con- 
tent ; the moment the dearest wish of a person’s heart 
is accomplished then that heart will immediately set 
to work to evolve another which is dearer to it still. 
And thus the wish nearest to the heart of our hero at 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


259 


this moment was that he should not be eaten ; and at 
the very thought of the uncertainty, which awaited 
him in this extremely serious matter, he almost felt 
inclined to paddle that canoe back again to sea, and 
his wish for safety no sooner a fait accompli , than he 
seriously considered whether, after all, it would not be 
better to start oft' and drown. 

But though all this sounds very unreasonable, can 
you wonder ? 

The prospect of forming a plat for another per- 
son’s dinner is most certainly an unalluring one under 
any circumstances whatever, and now, when that 
prospect was not at all an improbable eventuality, it 
seemed, if possible, more unpleasant still. 

But where there is life there is hope, and so, stifl- 
ing such unworthy fears, the poor fugitive paddled 
perse veringly on until he ran upon the sandy beach. 
And here he looked about him with no little curiosity, 
but there was not very much to see. 

It was getting dark certainly, but yet there was 
still light enough to observe the immediate landscape. 

Yes, there was the same old sand, the same old 
bush hard by, just as he had left them both upon the 
other isle. 


260 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


Walking along the sands, Arthur looked for a 
track which might lead into the bush. He found it, 
and without hesitation embarked upon this gloomy 
road. 

It was a case of neck or nothing now, with a ven- 
geance. If he remained upon the beach, there was 
the nothing, and at this moment he felt uncommonly 
hungry ; and if he should chance upon a party of hos- 
tile cannibals — well, then, it might cost him his neck. 

Yes, he had once craved for excitement, and I 
think he had it now. 

Surely, as Arthur Dacre walked along that wind- 
ing path, his heart beat even quicker than it had ever 
done in the days when he feared lest his adversary 
might turn the king and win the game. Would he 
turn the king now, or would the king be turned 
against him, then roast him and subsequently eat him ? 
Ah, which ? 

And thinking thus, each pulse in his body going at 
the double, our hero smelt natives. There was no 
mistake about it, any European can smell a native 
miles away, for natives have an unpleasant custom, or 
is it a cleanly one, of making themselves coats of 
cocoanut oil, and the odor thus produced is percepti- 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


261 


ble while the wearers of these slender garments are yet 
a long way off. 

Why, the island of Ceylon, for example, can be dis- 
tinctly detected, by the nose, while the ship is yet a 
a w T hole day’s sail from thence. 

New chums, poetical new chums, may like to 
attribute this to the “ spicy breezes which blow o’er 
Ceylon’s isle,” but all the same, the “ spice” of these 
breezes is in reality nothing more nor less than that 
peculiar odor of which I speak. 

Thus, like a pointer dog, Arthur stood and sniffed. 
It was very ludicrous to see him standing there with 
nose uplifted in the direction of his enemies. 

Yes, ludicrous perhaps, but pretty tragic too, if 
they were enemies. 

Why couldn’t he find out ? If only he could but 
know. Yes, but then that would have spoilt the 
whole excitement of the affair, and he who had been 
so fond of excitement should surely appreciate it now. 

You may believe me perhaps, when I tell you that 
our hero smelt a native, but I feel quite confident that 
you would refuse all credit to my story if I also added, 
that his nose informed him of the future intentions 
of these aborigines of the bush. 


262 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


But very soon liis ears told him something, how- 
ever, and that was that a great “ meke ” was going on, 
and let me inform you that a “ meke ” means any 
great festivity such as dancing, singing, rejoicing, or 
to sum it all up into one word — noise. 

Yes, something was going on and that probably 
accounted for the absence of people upon the beach ; 
so creeping stealthily towards the direction of the 
sound, expecting every moment to come upon the dan- 
cers, Arthur continued on his way, cautiously looking 
around him as he went. 

Presently there was a sign of a break in the bush, 

and indications that a native village was not far off. 

* 

And then the sounds grew louder and louder ; yes, 
surely there was the low monotonous chant of the dan- 
cers, the beating of “ lalis ” and the sounding of “ tom- 
toms.” 

Arthur had often heard of a native “ meke,” but 
till now had never actually witnessed one himself, and 
despite the horrid uncertainty of his position, he bent 
forward from his place of concealment to watch this 
strange and novel sight. 

The first view of this species of entertainment may 
perhaps be picturesque, but anyone who is obliged to 


A CANNIBAE DANCE. 


263 


be present at its repeated performance is deserving of 
the greatest pity, for the programme never varies. 

There sat that silent circle of dusky figures, in 
their midst a huge bowl. What were they doing, 
those figures ? They were chewing that root which, in 
some islands, is called “ Angona,” and others “ Kava ” 
preparatory to drinking the intoxicating beverage 
which is thus unceremoniously manufactured. 

At long intervals stood painted braves holding 
aloft great flaming boughs, in the centre there danced 
and chanted and chanted and danced some two hun- 
dred grotesque looking individuals, who appeared 
weird and strange in that lurid, fitful light ; their dark 
figures lit up against the black gloom of the bush 
beyond stood out distinct and clear. 

They danced like one. As one man their feet 
beat upon the ground. Now they leapt — now they 
knelt — now they bowed their heads upon the grass. 
Each word they sang, they acted, and all in such per- 
fect unison, with an absence of hesitation or delay, 
which told of long and persevering practice before 
this state of perfection had been reached. Some were 
painted, others not ; some wore clothes of “ tappa,” 


264 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


others leaves and feathers of birds. Such a sight was 
certainly strange, that combination of moving color ; 
red faces, blue faces, and faces picked out with yellow, 
feathers waving on their heads, shells jangling at their 
knees — the whole lit up as I have said, by the huge 
flaring torches which now burnt low, or suddenly 
burst forth into brilliant fire, illuminating the entire 
arena thus occupied by the “ meke.” 

For some time, Arthur stood spellbound, gazing 
intently upon this picture — he for a few moments 
even forgot himself and his present danger, in the 
novelty of what he saw. And then when he could 
withdraw his eyes from the dancers, who seemed to 
fascinate him, he looked about for some raison d'etre 
for all this spectacle and fuss. 

There must be some spectators, he thought, some- 
one in the royal box, to applaud the excellence of the 
play. And there was, sure enough — a little back 
within the shadow of the bush sat the audience. 

Yes, and apparently there was the royal box, for 
although the entire audience were seated upon their 
hams, intently watching the scene which was taking, 
place, one figure alone occupied a mat, a little in the 
foreground, all by himself. 


A CANNIBAL DANCE. 


265 


He must be a swell, thought Arthur, as he tried to 
distinguish him from the others — that’s the chief, and 
on him my fate depends. 

Well, let me get a good view of him, at any rate, 
and see what sort of a phiz he has. But at the angle 
at which he stood this was not easy, and as the torches 
were burning low, it was next to impossible to dis- 
tinguish more than that a figure was there upon a 
mat, his features and general appearance were too 
indistinct to be criticised. 

Suddenly a torch flared up with a new and lurid 
light, and he saw him. 

Good God, what was it he saw ? A man — a beast, 
or bird ? Bird ? Ho, it couldn’t be a bird — but 
what — what on earth can it be ? 

And had the natives not been so occupied upon the 
ceremony of the evening, Arthur would inevitably 
have been observed, as he craned forward in his 
eagerness to discover who or what this marvellous 
looking object might be, as there it crouched like 
some great bird upon the mat. 

By Jove, it might be an emu, he thought, 

they worship all sorts of strange things, perhaps 
12 


266 


A FEATHERED KING. 


they’ve got an emu for a god and the poor thing has 
to sit there and squat upon a mat. 

But no, that is not an emu’s head— it wouldn’t 
have been so quiet all this long time, it must have 
shot out its long neck ages ago, had it been that peck- 
ing bird — but heavens, it is not the face of a bird, it 
is the face of a man, and gracious heavens that face is 
white . 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A FEATHERED KINO. 


“ As the kindly sunshine thaws the snow, 

E’en malice and spite will yield ; 

We could almost welcome our mortal foe 
In the saddle, by flood and field.” — Gordon. 

HIS discovery was almost too much for Arthur. 



1 He had to withdraw his eyes and look all 
around him at the rest of the scene to reassure him- 
self that he was not dreaming, before he again ven- 
tured to gaze upon that occupant of the royal box. 

No, he wasn’t dreaming, there chewed the chew- 
ers, there danced the dancers, there stood the band 
beating their monotonously toned instruments ; and 


A FEATHERED KING. 


267 


then he looked again at the sight which had so star- 
tled him. 

Yes, there sat the man faced white-faced-bird. 
He could see now that it was a man, but a feathered 
man. 

Could he fly ? he wondered. What did he do with 
all that plumage ? Was it only his gala dress, or 
would he presently spread his wings and soar 
away ? 

But all speculation on this subject was soon set at 
rest by what now began to take place, and Arthur, his 
eyes starting from his head with horror, stood and 
gazed at what followed. For suddenly the dancing 
ceased — two men were led forward into the centre of 
the circle, and then ensued a dead silence. 

The man-bird, or bird-man, slowly arose from his 
mat and gave a signal. 

Immediately two men armed with clubs sprang 
forward, and waving these weapons round their 
heads, brought them down with relentless force upon 
the skulls of their victims. The poor wretches fell 
dead — the bird resumed his seat, while a shout arose 
from the assembled warriors, whom our hero almost 


A FEATHERED KING. 


imagined lie could hear smacking their lips at 
thoughts of the prospective feast. 

I might here mention that he subsequently discov- 
ered that these two poor wretches had been put to 
death at the command of their chief, for having dared 
iwalk behind him as he sat. 

In most of these South Sea Islands a chief is a 
great and potent being ; no one is allowed to stand 
upright in his presence or walk behind him as he sits ; 
the punishment for this lese-majeste is to be clubbed 
to death. 

Arthur’s horror and dismay were unpleasantly 
interrupted by the whizzing of a spear which whistled 
past his ear. One of the company had seen something 
moving in the bushes, and perhaps thinking it was a 
pig, had straightway thrown his spear at the spot. 

“ Thus recalled to the peril of his own situation 
Arthur was just making up his mind to come forward 
and throw himself upon the mercy of the chief, think- 
ing that he would perhaps stand more chance of clem- 
ency before the natives should be infuriated by the 
taste of blood, when attention was diverted from the 
owner of the spear and his fancied noise in the bush 
by a signal from the chief, bird, or whatever he was. 


A FEATHERED KING. 


269 


For, the birdlike chief rose slowly to his feet — the 
clamour ceased, and in place of the hubbub which had 
arisen after the recent executions, all held their peace, 
making this sudden silence seem the greater by con- 
trast with the hideous din of a moment ago ; and then 
waving his hands theatrically towards his audience, 
the chief raised his voice, and in a sort of chant sang 
these words. 

Imagine tha astonishment of Arthur as he listened, 
for the words were French ! 


“ Charraants Messieurs faites vos jeux, 
Pardon sauvages jaunes et bleus, 
J’oublie toujours que vous 6tes 
Moins qu’ humains plus que b§tes, 
Sautez, dansez toute la nuit 
Pendant que ce canaque cuit; 

Allons messieurs faites vos jeux, 
Charmants sujets jaunes et bleus, 
Votre jeu n’est lien en somme 
Que la soif du sang d’un bomme, 
Gobergez vous, ne tardez pas 
De bien jouir de ce repas, 

Allons, messieurs, jaunes et bleus 
Je vous engage a faire vos jeux.” 


And as the speaker ceased, he once again took up 
the chorus, while his listeners, without in the least 
knowing what they said, followed him in the sound of 
the words as closely as they could, while the band beat 
their “ lalis ” to the chant as the whole crowd howled 


in chorus : 


270 


A FEATHERED KING. 


“Messieurs, messieurs, faites vos jeux 
Nous sommes messieurs, jaunes et bleus.” 

Again and again the chief held his hand aloft and 
shouted these two lines, and again and again his 

“ charmants sujets , jaunes et bleus” took up the 
refrain, gesticulating as they did so, till they had 
worked themselves into a state of excitement border- 
ing upon frenzy, for it does not take much to excite a 
South Sea Island native, or any native at all, for that 
matter. 

The chief then resumed his seat and the horrible 
preparations for the feast commenced. 

I think that the amazement of our hero can be bet- 
ter imagined than related. He was almost stupefied 
at what he had heard, and what he had seen, and then 
— it sounds odd, but is true — he wanted to laugh. 
The whole thing was so absurd. 

Fancy naked savages being invited to their horrible 
orgies by the cry of a Monte Carlo croupier, and told 
to “ faire leur jeux” and then, as this inclination to 
laugh seized him, he glanced towards the chief, who 
had so recently exhorted his colored subjects to con- 
tinue their amusement, but the expression of his face 
was scarcely such as to encourage mirth. He was 


A FEATHERED KING. 


271 


smiling, it was true, but with such a ghastly, demoni- 
acal smile, that it almost curdled Arthur to look upon 
it, for there was a sardonic sneer of contempt which 
would have done credit to Satan himself, while his 
eyes were dilated, and his nostrils distended, as though 
the sight of blood, and the orgie about to follow, were 
not without its effect upon him also. 

It was a strange sight to meet this individual 
clothed in feathers, to see him treated with the defer- 
ence due to royalty, while he, in return, amused him- 
self by making fun of his obsequious subjects, and I 
doubt if anyone, in the course of their travels, ever 
saw a stranger. 

Pulling himself together, our hero emerged from 
his place of concealment, and stood right before the 
feathered chief. 

In one moment he became the centre of observa- 
tion, and in the next, a possible target for some score 
of spears which were levelled at him, as though await- 
ing a signal from the chief. 

But, astonished as the king was at this sudden 
apparition of a white man in their midst, he kept his 
presence of mind, and waved his hands, saying hastily 
a few words in the language of his listeners, when 


272 


A FKxYTLIERED KING. 


immediately the too enthusiastic warriors lowered 
their spears, and awaited further commands. 

“ Yes, it was a white man Arthur saw, and more- 
over, an educated one, for he bowed politely to the 
intruder, and then addressing him in excellent French, 
asked from whence he had come, then adding, after a 
moment, “ to what do I owe the honor of receiving 
Mr. Dacre in my kingdom V 9 

“ You know me ?” gasped Arthur, wondering. 

To be recognized by this feathered biped was little 
short of marvellous. 

“ Mais oid , monsieur , the last time we met 1 had 
the pleasure of drinking to our next merry meeting. 
It is here we meet ; the ways of Fate are strange,” and 
he clapped his hands, whereat an attendant brought two 
cocoanut shells full of the angona root drink which 
the chewers had so perseveringly prepared, and taking 
one, handing the other to his guest, the chief bade 
him drink. 

“ Don’t be squeamish,” he added, “ it is not bad ; 
and it is only the idea which spoils it ; let us now 
drink to the meeting which destiny has brought 
about.” 

“You are Deauville,” exclaimed Arthur, quiver- 


A FEATHERED KING. 


273 


ing with excitement, “ you are the man I seek, and 
for the search of whom I have suffered so greatly and 
so long. Yes, I’ll drink to this meeting,” he went on, 
speaking with eagerness, and seizing hold of the cup ; 
“ come, Count, let me pledge you, were this the great- 
est horror that man had ever brewed I believe I 
would drain it in justice to that toast — our meeting 
once again.” 

And so speaking, he placed the cup to his lips — 
so did his host, who as he finished, as the custom is, 
lightly tossed his cup amongst the crowd, as though to 
show how easily he had disposed of that long draught. 
And Arthur followed his example, not knowing, nor 
greatly caring, why he did it. 

He was in luck, in all probability he was safe ; he 
did not think it likely that he would be eaten this time 
for here was the man he had ventured so far to seek, 
and that man, from some unexplained circumstance or 
other a man of power. 

When he had tossed the cup away, Deauville, 
smoothing out his feathers, continued with a smile. 

“ I trust you admire my costume, Mr. Dacre.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Arthur, “it is certainly origi- 
12 * 


274 


A FEATHERED KING. 


nal ; how did you procure it, and whatever does it 
mean ?” 

“It means that I was once ill treated,” laughed the 
chief, “ and through ill treatment I became king of 
the Cannibal Islands ; it’s an ill wind which blows 
no one any good.” 

“ What was it ?” queried Arthur, unable to restrain 
his curiosity, as his mind went back to his last meet- 
ing with this man, when he was spruce and smart in 
dress clothes, while here he was painted and feathered 
like an ostrich. 

“ Well, perhaps you do not know that circumstan- 
ces brought about my imprisonment ?” 

Arthur nodded. 

“Really, you know that? Well, I escaped.” 

He nodded again. 

“You know that?” remarked the chief, in aston- 
ishment, “well, I escaped, and then dwelt amongst 
some refined gentlemen, who had had adventures 
somewhat similar to mine. One day we quarrelled — 
they set upon me and were about to kill me, la can- 
aille” he hissed between his teeth. “ I not unnatur- 
ally endeavored to dissuade them from their purpose ; 
I entreated for a chance of life. There was a canoe 


A FEATHERED KING. 


275 


upon the beach, and I begged them Jet me put to sea, 
and take my chance of almost certain drowning — not 
a very great boon to ask. They assented, but just as I 
was starting to get into the canoe, feeling as happy as 
though it were the deck of an ocean-going steamer, 
some brute suggested with a laugh that I had better 
be tarred and feathered, so that if I met any natives 
they would take me for a warrior like themselves. No 
sooner said than done, and I was tarred and feathered, 
a pleasant experience , vous assure , and thus arrayed 
in plumage of every color of the rainbow I put to sea. 
The wind blew and the waves rose — I little expected 
that I should ever live to reach the land. However, 
after much discomfort and considerable danger, my 
canoe was blown on to this island some five miles down 
the coast. Exhausted and half drowned, I threw 
myself upon the beach ; when I came to, the canoe 
was gone. Not a trace of it remained, it must have 
been washed out to sea ; and there I was alone, help- 
less and with no means of escape. However, the 
pangs of hunger soon cut short any thought or appre- 
hensions in which I might have felt inclined to 
indulge, and walking boldly on, I eventually arrived 
at a native village. I walked right into the midst of 


276 


A FEATHERED KING. 


a crowd of jabbering devils, and began to gesticulate 
in my endeavors to prove to them that I was a friend. 
Imagine my astonishment when they fled from me, 
and rushed into their houses, from whence I could see 
them peering at me through the doors. Presently, 
some bolder than the others, stepped out, but as they 
approached me they seemed overpowered with fear, 
and knelt down, beating their heads upon the ground. 
It was only then that I realized the true state of the 
case, and only then that I remembered the peculiari- 
ties of my costume. Yes, my eyes looked down, and 
I saw my feathers ; of course the poor fools thought I 
had flown there from the skies, and imagined me a 
spirit. You may suppose that no sooner had I 
grasped the idea than I acted up to the part, and 
sticking out my feathers as well as I could, began to 
hop about in as bird-like manner as I was able. I 
assumed a tone of command, and hopping into the 
largest of the houses, I perched upon the floor, inti- 
mating as well as I could that I was hungry. All 
sorts of horrors were put before me, but selecting 
some yams, I ate. Well, to cut a long story short, I 
did not fly away as they expected, but knowing that 
my power over them lay in my feathers, I was very 


A FEATHERED KING. 


277 


careful of my costume, and pruned it down as well as 
I was able. And when the tar began to wear off, I 
managed to procure some kind of gum from a tree 
near my hut, which acted the purpose, and with this 
persuaded my plumage to adhere to my skin, while by 
dint of pretending to be a superior being who had 
arrived from the infernal regions, I gradually became 
monarch of all I survey. Things might be worse,” 
concluded the chief, with a smile, “ of course I get 
rather bored occasionally, but you have no idea 
what fun it is to be a king, and I manage also to 
extract a certain amount of amusement out of the poor 
devils. By-the-by, did you hear my little incantation 
just now ?” 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, with a smile ; then rather 
gravely, “ and I witnessed the murders.” 

“ Murders, ha, ha ;” the chief laughed a horrible 
laugh, “ murders you call them ; do you really think, 
then, it matters how many of these things,” pointing 
to the people in front of him, “ live or die ?” 

Arthur intimated that he certainly did. 

“ Ma foi” continued Deauville, “I assure you 
they don’t count, and besides which, one has to keep 


278 


A FEATHERED KING. 


up the royalty of one's position,” with a smile, “ and 
also I occasionally have to blood my hounds.” 

Arthur recoiled in horror. 

“ Bah,” exclaimed the Frenchman, “ it strikes me 
as odd that a person as particular as you are should be 
here at all — how did you get here ?” 

“It was the result of a search after you.” 

“ A search after me ?” 

“ Yes, I will tell you about it.” 

“All right — but wait a bit,” and starting up with 
a spring which sent him at least three feet in the air, 
at the same time giving a yell which might have been 
heard a mile off, Deauviile attracted the attention of 
his subjects, who had long since proceeded with their 
preparations for the evening’s debauch. 

He then explained to them to “ carry on,” and 
bowing their heads they set to work to continue the 
programme. The dancing recommenced, the band 
struck up its monotonous music, voices screamed aloud, 
as now and again the boasting brave sprang to his feet 
and told in exalted language of his deeds of prowess, 
while another followed, declaring that he was a 
mightier man than he. 

And amid all this tumult, all this noise, Arthur 


A FEATHERED KING. 


279 


accepted the offer of a mat, and seating himself 
thereon told his story — but not till he had refreshed 
himself upon a yam and bananas which the chief 
caused to be brought to him. 

“ If you wait a bit,” he had said, “ there will be 
meat.” 

But Arthur had only shuddered, as he declared 
that a yam was what he should prefer to anything else 
in the world. 

He then told Deauville how, by accident (he did 
not relate how) it had come to his ears that he had 
been defrauded and duped, cheated of his money and 
robbed of his love. 

He told of his search, and his sojourn among the 
convicts — at this the chief smiled. 

“ Certes ,” he said, “ but you must have had 
a lively time ; mais qu'alliez vous faire dans cette 
galere ? no one but an Englishman would have ven- 
tured there.” 

When he narrated his escape, and how he had 
been blown to this island in a canoe, his hearer 
laughed outright. 

“ What a pity,” he said, “they didn’t tar and 
feather you before you left ; had they done so, we 


280 


A PASSWORD. 


might have been brother kings, but as it is, I shall 
have some difficulty in persuading my dutiful subjects 
that you are bad eating — I wish you looked less tempt- 
ing. You seem to have met the same kind of wind I 
did,” he added “you cannot have gone very far in the 
bush, after all, and probably embarked at much the 
same point as myself ; I think I know the colony 
where you passed such a jovial time. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

A PASSWORD. 

“ No game was ever yet worth a rap, 

For a rational man to play, 

Into which no accident no mishap, 

Could possibly find its way.”— Gordon. 

I T was a strange place, and amid strange surround- 
ings that our hero was telling his tale to this 
man he had sought so long. 

His meeting with Daurent had been a strange one, 
surely his meeting with Deauville was a stranger still. 

“And now you have found me,” queried the 
Frenchman, when Arthur concluded his tale — “what 
next ?” 


A PASSWORD. 


281 


<l I want you to tell me liow to obtain proofs of 
Darvell’s guilt, and then aid me to escape.” 

“ Is that all ?” observed the chief, with a laugh 
which made the feathers upon his body shake again, 
“ and what is to be my reward for all the trouble you 
so kindly suggest ?” 

“ The reward of a good conscience, and the knowl- 
edge that you will have at length done something 
towards wiping out the wrong you did me ; also by 
aiding me, you will avenge yourself upon Darvell,” 
replied Arthur, adding the last as a random shot. It 
told. 

“ Yes, Mon Dieu , I should like that ; if he hadn’t 
refused to send me the money I wrote for from Paris, 
it wouldn’t have been necessary for me to forge that 
cheque, and if I hadn’t forged that cheque I should 
never have killed that fool of a man, and then I 
should never — heavens,” he exclaimed, starting to his 
feet, “ I should never have been masquerading in all 
this cursed tomfoolery, joining in the revels of a can- 
nibal crew, and assisting at their filthy orgies.” 

“ Yes,” hazarded Arthur, “ and Darvell at this 
moment is clothed in purple and fine linen ; he mar- 
ried my sweetheart, he fattened on your share of the 


282 


A PASSWORD. 


spoil, and is probably at this moment drinking a bot- 
tle of ’74.” 

“ Mille Tonnerres ,” cried Deauville, “ you are 
right — champagne ; oh, for one little glass of that 
sparkling wine, and he is drinking it. No, no, the 
idea is too terrible — Mr. Dacre, I will tell you all, if 
you will swear to ruin that man ; as I have suffered, so 
shall he — as I have wearied for a cup of wine, so shall 
he — as I have gnashed my teeth in confinement, so 
shall he — swear, if I set you free, swear that you will 
leave no stone unturned, no path untrodden, till you 
have made that man as miserable as I myself have 
been.” 

“ If you will help me, I swear,” said Arthur. 

“ Well, to-morrow I will tell you all, what to do 
and how to do it ; to-night it is late, these devils will 
soon be gorged with food, and their noise become 
unbearable. Come with me, and I will give you a 
mat in my own royal hut, you will be safe with me.” 

Arthur obeyed, and following the king, he entered 
the largest of the houses, and, worn out with all he 
had gone through, threw’ himself upon a not too clean 
bed of mats, and before long lie was sound asleep. 

The next morning, after carefully combing out his 


A PASSWORD. 


283 


cherished feathers, Deauville roused his guest and bid 
him share his breakfast. 

“ Tou jo urs perdrix” he said, handing him a jam. 

“ 5Tes,” answered Arthur, desiring perhaps to keep 
alive the feeling of vengeance against liis late partner 
in crime, u and Joe Darvell is possibly breakfasting 
off the real partridge at his club.” 

“ Nom Tun chien” cried the chief, “ do not speak 
of it or you will make me fou , he shall not escape, 
have no fear.” 

And with this Arthur had to rest content, nor 
dared he again allude to the programme of their 
mutual vengeance till his host should himself pave the 
way. 

It was not long in coming. Breakfast over, after 
sitting for a time in deep thought, Deauville said. 

“ Do you. know Paris ?” 

“ Rather,” answered Arthur. 

“ Then go to M ,” and here he mentioned 

the name of a lawyer living at an address in not too 
reputable part of that city. 

His auditor nodded. 

“ Say you have come from me, and ask for that 
packet of papers I left with him before my trial.” 


284 


A PASSWORD. 


“ How will he know I came from you — cannot you 
give me a token ?” 

“ What have I ?” answered Deauville, with a smile, 
“ but feathers, and he would scarcely believe in them ; 
yet a token will not be necessary,” he went on; “ when 
I gave those papers into his keeping, he agreed never 
to give them up except to a messenger from me, and 
that messenger was to give a sign, by a word.” 

“ A word ?” 

“ Yes, a sort of password, which should prove he 
came from me.” 

“ And it is,” 

“ Baccarat,” replied Deauville, looking fixedly at 
his guest as he spoke. 

“ Baccarat,” cried the other. “ By Jove, I am in 
luck — I see it all now.” 

“ How do you mean— in luck; why in luck?” 
queried Deauville, puzzled. 

And then Arthur told him how he had placed his 
all upon a horse bearing that name — how he had pul- 
led off the race and accepting that as a good omen, 
had started on his search. 

“ Mon Dicur exclaimed the Frenchman, who, like 
all gamblers, was extraordinarily superstitious, “you 


A PASSWORD. 


285 


are in luck, you can do anything now ; back it to the 
end, I never heard of such a coincidence in my life. I 
had been wondering whether you would have the 
pluck to put to sea in a canoe, and run the risk of be- 
ing drowned, which you will have to do if you carry 
out the programme I am about to suggest — but after 
what has happened, the name of that horse, and the 
password to my papers being the same, you will be a 
fool to fear anything — you are bound to succeed.” 

“ I think so, too,” said Arthur, smiling, “ what is 
your plan ?” 

“ Well, let me first continue about these papers — 
the lawyer will show them to you and let you take 
copies, he keeps the originals, and the papers are our 
deeds of partnership, they implicate some of the 
proudest names in Europe. But swear to me that 
these names shall be sacred and that Darvell shall be 
the only one you ruin.” 

Again Arthur swore. 

“ I think if you will tell him you can lay your 
hands upon those papers, he will have the sense to 
throw up the sponge ; he can have nothing to gain by 
involving others in his fall, and it is only against him 


286 


A PASSWORD. 


I bear a grudge — but did you not say he married the 
girl you loved 2” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, don’t you think it possible that when you 
witness her happiness your heart may fail you, and 
you may decide that she shall remain in her fools’ par- 
adise 2” 

“ No,” replied Arthur. “ In the first place, she 
cannot be happy, and in the second place, I would 
rescue her from that villain even were it to cost her a 
pang at the time I did so.” 

“ As you will,” said the chief with a shrug of the 
shoulders, “ you high principled gentlemen often have 
curious morals.” 

“We don’t cheat at cards,” answered Arthur net- 
tled out of his usual tact and courtesy, but a sledge- 
hammer is a pin prick to some natures, and Deauville 
only laughed. 

“ With you, I see, monsieur, a spade is a spade, 
nay, more, it is a something shovel ; never would you 
correct fortune when it is a question of money, but 
where it is a case of love, you do not sometimes con- 
sider it crime to correct m ^fortune, and steal your 
neighbor’s wife — ah, Mon Dieu , principles are a great 


A PASSWORD. 


287 


possession. Bift do not let us split hairs thus, you 
have sworn to avenge yourself and me, and I have 
promised to help you to escape from this festive spot. 
Aren’t you tempted to stay, though ?” he added, jerk- 
ing his hand in the direction of the figures who were 
all around sleeping off the effect of last night’s 
debauch, “ don’t you wish to stay here and be my 
prime minister ?” 

“ Not particularly,” replied Arthur. 

“ No ? Ha, ha, I wonder at that, but you will 
have to remain here a week or two at any rate till the 
time of year when ships are likely to pass this way ; 
we are not far from the coast of New Caledonia you 
know, nor from those islands which are sometimes 
visited by British men-of-war. At certain times we 
even see a sail in the distance. We have nothing to 

fear, however, the reefs about here are pretty danger- 
ous, and no ship would think of putting in here unless 
for an express purpose, as my faithful subjects, from 
their own account, have a tolerable reputation for fer- 
ocity and bloodthirstiness. But if you have the pluck 
to start off in a canoe, I will give you food and water 
for a few days, and go to sea on the chance of being 


288 


A PASSWORD. 


picked up, well, then, your escape from this delightfu 
place may become an accomplished fact.” 

“ I will certainly try,” said Arthur, “ but you ?” 

“ Oh, 1 thank you, will remain here upon the 
throne of my ancestors, or rather the throne of the last 
line of kings whose place I have usurped. I suppose 
they think here that at any moment I may flap my 
wings and disappear as miraculously as I came, but I 
think I shall remain here for the present. You see this 
is not a very safe part of the world, and out here, 
every Frenchman is looked upon with more or less of 
suspicion. Now, if I were caught, and sent back to the 
cheerful prisons of Noumea, I should naturally regret 
having left the throne of the last king’s ancestors.” 

“ Naturally,” assented Arthur. 

“ And so you see I propose to remain ; but of 
course, you will never mention the fact that I am 
here.” 

“ I will not.” 

“ Then be it so, J’y suis etj'y reste — i I will take 
some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race,’ ” 
quoted the chief, as he shook his feathers, “ then my 
posterity will be able to say that they sit upon the 
throne of their ancestors. I am content — what more 


A PASSWORD. 


289 


can I want? I might be worse off than I am 
now.” 

“ Indeed you might,” replied Arthur, thinking of 
those punishment cells he had visited at He de Hou. 

It was two weeks after this conversation that a 
canoe was launched, and Arthur, seating himself 
therein, started on his voyage. The natives had 
turned out to bid him farewell, and their befeathered 
chief himself was amongst those who assisted at his 
departure. 

He had arranged everything, provided the canoe, 
explained away the strange appearance and sudden 
departure of his white friend, and finally himself 
escorted him to the beach. 

Once more, his heart beating hgh with hope, 
Arthur took the paddle, and stepped into the canoe. 

“ Adieu,” shouted Deauville, “ lonne chance , 
remember baccarat.” 

“ I’m not very likely to forget it,” he replied, 
“ good-bye, and thank you for your kind help.” 

The natives shouted, the chief shook his feathers, 
and Arthur, plunging his paddle into the sea, once 
more started off for the distant horizon,— Europe, 

England, and home. 

13 


290 LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 

“ There are others toiling and straining, 

’Neath burdens graver than mine — 

They are weary, yet uncomplaining — 

I. know it, yet I repine ; 

I know it, how time will ravage, 

How time will level, and yet 
I long with a longiug savage, 

I regret with a fierce regret.” — G ordon. 

B UT when it was all over, not even bar shouting, 
and Arthur found himself once more upon the 
open sea in his cockle shell of a canoe, the lately felt 
rise in the barometer of his spirits fell with a 
run.. 

His present position was too unpleasantly similar to 
the one he had occupied but a few weeks ago, and it 
was not possible to avoid reflections upon the immi- 
nence of his peril. 

It was true he was better off this time than he had 
been on the former occasion ; his mind was at rest as 
regards Deauville — he had solved the problem of his 
disappearance. And his body also was in a better plight, 
or rather would be in a better plight, for there in the 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 29t 

bottom of the canoe lay several tempting yams and a 
bottle or two of water provided by the kind fore- 
thought of his one time enemy. But of what use would 
all this be were the boat to capsize, and that this, while 
sailing, was no improbable contingency, a person has 
only to look upon a model of an outrigger canoe and 
judge for himself. 

Where then would be his ease of mind, and where 
too, his provisions so carefully stored ? 

“ Yes, where would be Moses when the candle went 
out?” laughed Arthur, trying hard to be cheerful, 
even at his own expense, though feeling far from 
cheerful in reality. 

“ Yes,” he went on, “ I fancy my present comfort- 
able frame of mind would be rather wasted at the bot- 
tom of the sea while the sweet little fishes would pretty 
soon make short work of my next few meals.” 

And then, even should he not upset, what on earth 
was there to prevent a wind from springing up and 
blowing him once more back to the convict settlement, 
landing him again at the front door of his former mas- 
ters. 

This was terrible. Bather the fishes and the deep 


292 LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 

blue sea, he thought, than any return to that den of 
iniquity. 

Yes, naturally death would be preferable to a great 
many misfortunes to which poor man is liable, but 
then, you see, poor man does not always have his choice, 
and had the breeze in question arisen, it would have 
been little use for our hero to continue to asseverate 
his preference for a watery grave, while all the time 
he clung tenaciously to the boat, as it was being washed 
upon the very shore he dreaded. 

Well, as it happened, his fears were wasted, his 
anticipations vain. 

What a lot of worry we should save ourselves if 
we refused to worry over contingencies, but remained 
content to wait until the event should really happen. 

In nine cases out of ten, there would then be no 
cause for worry at all ; and if, having accomplished 
this, we could continue and make up our minds never 
to fret over what had actually happened, knowing full 
well that however we might do so, we could never 
undo what already was done, then what a calm and 
wrinkleless old age we should be able to enjoy. 

But no, man is such a volatile, excitable, flighty 
and uncontrollable atom, that such a state of perfect 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DASTESBURY, R. N. 293 

repose for his mind can never be even hoped for until 
our nature be changed. 

We have left Arthur sitting in his canoe, won- 
dering and worrying ; worrying over his danger, and 
wondering what he shall do if such and such a thing 
shall come to pass. 

The such and such thing in this case being that 
one wind which might take him back to worse than 
death. And then, of course, there were other winds 
which might even conduct him to actual death, for 
should he be landed upon some unknown island, he 
could scarcely hope to meet another old acquaintance 
in the disguise of a chief. And as he himself possessed 
no borrowed plumage, and was indeed distinguishable 
by nothing either droll or uncommon in his appear- 
ance, he could hardly hope for an escape from the 
cooking pot of his enemies, or either that he might, 
by some stroke of fortune, be raised to the throne of 
their tribe. 

All this time, though his thoughts were so busy, 
his hands were not idle, and Arthur never ceased to 
paddle away for dear life. Right out to sea he stood, 
and then a wind helped him ; he rigged up his little 
mat which took the place of a sail, and went scudding 


291 LIEUT. THE HON CYRIL DxVNESBURY, R. N. 

along in fine form, his one idea being to reach the 
open sea, and there take his chance of being picked up 
by some passing vessel. 

So close to land, there was little likelihood of his 
seeing a ship, and did he even see one, it was less 
likely still that they would trouble their heads to stop 
and examine one particular native who was paddling 
his own canoe, any more than any other canoes which 
they might happen to come across. 

So his only chance was the open sea, and as the 
wind filled his primitive little sail, and the light craft 
went flying before it, the very pace at which he went 
seemed to lighten his heart, and banish thoughts of 
despair. 

Yes, this was splendid, he thought, if only this 
breeze will last. 

“ I must be miles away by now, and soon coming 
to more frequented waters ; I wonder if I shall see 
any craft hereabouts ?” he asked himself for about the 
hundredth time during the last half-hour, — and if I 
do, whether they’ll see me and stop ? 

It was certainly most persevering of him to con- 
tinue to ask himself this question, for there was not 


LIEUT. THE IION. CYRIL DANES BURY, R. N. 295 

much probability of his being in a position to answer 
it until he had had practical proof before him. 

But it was not very long before the proof came. 

Towards sundown, when he was just beginning to 
despair and feel the discouragement of coming dark- 
ness, with no chance of rescue till the morning should 
arrive, he saw a sail. 

“ By Jove,” he cried, “ there’s a sail.” 

And he stood up in his canoe, by which he was in 
imminent danger of upsetting it, and waved his paddle 
above his head. 

Now, in every book of travel and adventure which 
I have read, no man who found himself cast away ill 
a boat ever managed to attract the attention of the 
first ship which he sighted ; it was always the second 
or third ship, sometimes even the fourth, which 
effected the rescue. And of course he had to be 
rescued, for if the hero isn’t rescued the book cannot 
go on. But as the first sail invariably goes by, ignor- 
ing the fact that a fellow creature is making frantic 
signals of distress just under her lea, while the cruel- 
hearted, or conveniently short-sighted captain con- 
tinues on his way the poor disappointed hero will lie 
down in the bottom of the boat, and sadly beat his 


296 LIEUT. THE IION. CYRiL DANESBURY, R. N. 

liead against the gunwale of his vessel, scarcely pos- 
sessing the heart to rise once more to the occasion, and 
his feet, when another ship shall appear in sight. 

Well, I will not prolong the agony thus, not that I 
could if I would, for I am only, after all, able to relate 
exactly what befell, and it befell that the signalman 
of this ship reported a canoe upon the starboard 
quarter with a cove in it who was apparently making 
signals of distress, as though to attract the attention of 
the ship. 

Now the ship was a gunboat, H. M. S. Heron, and 
this is probably why the canoe had been so speedily 
sighted ; for on board a man-of-war a pretty smart 
look-out is kept. And in these gun boats, whose duty 
it is to cruise round those island seas, swarming with 
reefs and dangerous rocks, there is little doubt but 
that the look-out is a very smart one indeed. 

And therefore, it is scarcely surprising that the 
signalman reported to the officer in command that the 
canoe was endeavoring to attract attention. Then the 
officer in command put his glass to his eye, and with 
the magnificent composure peculiar to a naval officer 
when on duty, he swepc the horizon with that glass 
until at the end of it he found a little speck upon 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 297 

the starboard quarter. Then in an earnest voice, with 
each separate hair of his head “on duty” as it 
behoved them to be when he was about to do no less 
a thing than stop one of Her Majesty’s ships upon her 
course, he shouted : 

“ Heave her to.” 

How the officer in command of that ship, H. M. S. 
Heron, was no other than Lieut. The Hon. Cyril 
Danesbury, R. N. 

In order that you may not consider this a poor sort 
of coincidence wherewith I have endeavored to 
heighten the interest of my tale, let me remind you 
that when we met this even tempered officer first, he 
was then one of the lieutenants on board of the flag- 
ship at Sydney. 

How the flag-ship is the nursery of the fleet, and 
whenever a vacancy occurs through illness, or any 
other cause, in any of the smaller ships, that vacancy 
has to be filled, in as far as the admiral is able, from 
the officers of his own ship. 

Thus it frequently happens that the lieutenants 
of the flag-ship may any day find themselves in 
full command of a little gun-boat, with orders to go 

to the islands and cruise for the next six months — 
13* 


298 LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 

months of seclusion which are not very highly appre- 
ciated by the dashing young officer who is thus so 
cruelly exiled, while to the susceptible maidens of the 
various Colonial capitals, they are months of sorrow 
in very deed. And many and bitter are the anathemas 
which in polite language are called down upon the 
head of the hard-hearted admiral who has done this 
thing. 

Now Danesbury was not much of a society man, 
and his departure had perhaps caused less commotion 
in the most exclusive of Sydney circles than might 
have been the result had one of his shipmates been 
selected for this duty. 

If Porter, for instance, had been chosen for the 
command, then there would have been weeping and 
wailing indeed. 

Moreover, Cyril was not a dancing man ; report 
had it that he had made but one solitary attempt in 
that line, and on that eventful occasion, his partner 
had presented him with the measles. She had had 
them concealed about her person, and fearing lest such 
possession might prevent her from going to the flag-ship 
ball, with praiseworthy heroism determined to say 
nothing about the matter until this festivity were over. 


LIEUT. THE IION. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 299 


As luck would have it, this was the young lady 
whom Cyril selected for his first and last effort in the 
saltatory line, and when, after the ball was over, his 
partner returned home and took her to bed, which she 
never left until the measles had left her, poor Cyril, 
also, out of sympathy no doubt, sought the seclusion 
of his cabin, where, battling with his illness and rig- 
idly quarantined from the whole of his shipmates, he 
had ample opportunity for reflection upon the vanity 
of such transient pleasure. 

I fear that I am constantly darting off into other 
subjects and leaving my hero in his canoe ; but 
to tell the truth, that canoe bores me, and it is the 
second time that I have had to describe his adventures 
therein. 

Canoes always did bore me, and recollections of 
the various wettings and uncomfortable trips I have 
experienced in these frail craft, are not very conduc- 
ive to writing agreeably thereupon of the experiences 
of some one else, but I am pleased to say that Arthur s 
time in the canoe was now nearly up, and as far as I 
can recollect he never entered another one during the 
whole course of his life. 

One can have enough of everything, and I think 


300 LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DA.NESBURY, R. N. 

that my hero, my readers and myself, have all had 
enough of that native canoe. 

The ship lay to, and Arthur paddled alongside. 

When it was discovered that it was a white man 
who was using the paddle, then there was great excite- 
ment upon H. M. S. Heron. The white man sprang 
up the rope ladder and like one who knew the ways of 
the service, first touching his hat to the Queen’s quar- 
ter deck, exclaimed. 

“ Thank God.” 

“ This way, please,” said the sub who had superin- 
tended his arrival, u let me take yon to the Captain.” 

But it was not necessrry — the Captain had actually 
come to the side on his own account, and walked those 
seven yards of deck, unescorted and alone. He had 
recognized the white man, wild and unkempt as he 
appeared. He was smiling, too, as he called out. 

“ Great Scott, Dacre, is it you ?” 

“ Danesbury,” answered Arthur. u It is indeed— 
but what luck to find you here ; whatever are you 
doing ?” 

“ Bather let me say how odd to find you in this 
place,” replied the Captain, still smiling, “ it is only 
natural for me to be here — but you — all alone in a 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DA.NESBURY, R. N. 301 


canoe and costumed like an Egyptian Dervish ; it is 
rather queer, you will admit; but come below, and 
tell me all about it. First of all, though, are there 
any other white men on the island you apparently hail 
from ; is there anyone to be rescued ?” 

“No,” answered Arthur, promptly. 

It was scarcely a lie, he thought ; Deauville cer- 
tainly didn’t want much rescuing, and neither was lie, 
in the proper sense of the word, a white man ; he was 
by this time nearer brown than white. Besides which, 
he wasn’t really either white nor brown, he was a 
feathered man, and the Captain had not asked him if 
there were any feathered men on the island, nor was 
he likely to; therefore he never hesitated as he 
answered “ no.” 

Once below, being refreshed in Cyril’s cosy cabin, 
Arthur felt a new man, and as he poured himself out 
a glass of champagne, fully realized all he had gone 
through and suffered since he last partook of that 
sparkling wine. 

And he thought of Deauville — how that feathered 
monarch would enjoy this draught, he thought ; and 
then he drained his tumbler at a gulp. 

Meanwhile, his host was sitting patiently, smiling 


803 LIEUT. THE IION. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 


and contemplating his friend, waiting until lie should 
feel able to relate to him the story of his recent adven- 
tures. And then, while he listened to all that had 
happened since that day after the races, when Bac- 
carat landed Dacre such a coup, the smile never left 
his lips. 

There was though a look of sympathy in his eyes^ 
and sometimes he would remark “poor old chap,” but 
that kindly smile was always there. 

Now of course, Arthur could tell him about Deau- 
ville without fear of his wishing to interfere with 
that potentate or his personal freedom. 

To tell a thing “ on service 55 is one thing, to con- 
fide a secret to your friend in the seclusion of his 
cabin, another. 

An officer on duty and an officer in plain clothes 
are two separate people ; their very ears hear things in 
a different manner, and in the latter case they are 
sometimes able to look upon a matter almost as though 
they were as human as a civilian himself. And Cyril 
certainly felt very human as he literally roared with 
laughter over Arthur’s description of the convict king, 
as he sat arrayed in his gorgeous plumage, chanting 


LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY, R. N. 303 


his instructions to his “ charmants sujets , jaunes et 
bleusP 

u The fellow must have a keen sense of humor,” 
said Cyril. 

“ I believe you, my boy,” answered Arthur, lean- 
ing back upon the sofa with the air of a sybarite, 
“and what’s more, he’s a clever chap, too. If he’d 
only turned his talents into legitimate channels he’d 
have made a name for himself. And he’s as pleasant 
company as you could meet — but then, all villains are 
pleasant company, at least, successful villains.” 

“ Yes, that’s why they are successful,” put in 
Cyril, “ they gain your confidence while humoring 
you, their future victim ; a little blarney goes a long 
way. What fun a fellow like Deauville or your dear 
friend Joe must have, while playing with a pal like a 
cat does a mouse, keeping him unsuspicious and happy 
until the time shall come when they weary of the 
sport, and make up their minds to end his wretched 
existence.” 

“Yes,” smiled Arthur, “and I was once the 
mouse. My dear Danesbury, it makes my blood boil 
to think that I was made such a fool of.” 

“You’re not the first my boy,” answered his 


304 LIEUT. THE HON. CYRIL DANESBURY R. N. 


friend, “ and after all, there is no such great crime in 
being taken in by a plausible blackguard ; on the con- 
trary it rather proves that you have a kindly nature 
and do not go through life looking upon everybody as 
a possible villain. If you did, you would lose a great 
many real and pleasant friendships, and I am not sure 
that a person who distrusts all mankind is, after all, 
any the happier for it in the long run.” 

“ One is bound to hope so,” replied Arthur, with a 
sigh, “ but still it’s rather a bore to be jnade a fool 
of.” 

“ Well, it strikes me, you have the game in your 
own hands now. You go to Paris, secure the papers, 
denounce the villain, get the girl to swallow your 
poverty — marry her — bring her to Australia, and all 
live happily ever after.” 

4 ‘Well, that’s very good to listen to,” remarked 
Arthur, “but you see, to begin with, Miss Munroe 
may be married by now, and if she isn’t, I am not in 
a much better position as regards wealth than I was on 
the day I made myself say good-bye.” 

“ True,” answered his friend, thoughtfully, “ but 
wouldn’t she come and live with you in Australia ; 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


305 


Mrs. Atkins manages to eke out a tolerably liappy 
existence.” 

“ Ah, that’s the idea, but yet And so on and 

so on, and once having confided in his friend, our hero 
at any rate felt happier, and during the voyage to 
Sydney, they, as you may imagine, pretty well talked 
over the whole situation, and weighed the pros 
and cons of all Arthur’s future actions. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


“Men will call me unrelenting 
Pitiless vindictive stern 
Few will raise a voice dissenting 

Few will better things discern.” — Gordon. 


NCE arrived in Sydney, Arthur lost no time in 



yj hunting up his portmanteaux, and then, once 
more arrayed like a civilized being, he started for 
Paris. It took him six weeks to get there, but we 
will skip all that, and get there in the next sentence. 

All was as Deauville had said— there was the law- 
yer, and there he sat, in polite reticence, unwilling to 


300 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


concede that he possessed any knowledge of Deauville 
wnatever, but when Arthur looking very knowing 
asked him if the word “ Baccarat ” would be any proof 
that he had indeed seen his client, and came direct 
from that gentlman’s presence, then the little avocat 
unbent, and looking upon his visitor with as much 
awe as if he had indeed come from the infernal 
regions, treated him with the obsequious courtesy 
which befitted a person of such extreme importance. 

Thus Arthur learnt all that was necessary for his 
purpose, and armed with the copies of the deeds of 
partnership, he departed. 

Perusing these at his leisure, he marvelled at the 
names which were written thereon — men whom he 
had known and trusted as greatly almost as he had 
trusted Darvell, figured in the list of that giant 
conspiracy. 

“ How did they dare ? ” he wondered, “ think of 
the risk.” Well, yes, but think of the money, and 
people have often dared a great deal for the acquisi- 
tion of that summum bonum of human happiness ; 
besides which, the risk might not be so great after 
all — there is honor among thieves. 

And then that rather curdling oath which Daurent 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


307 


repeated to him in the hut ; that was some protection 
perhaps from the danger of being blown upon. 

Yes, there certainly are stranger things in the 
world than of which we ever dreamt, he thought, what 
whited sepulchres we all are. 

“Why, even I,” he went on, “now eating my 
dinner in the Cafe Anglais, the realization of my once 
most fervent wish, though I put on the air of a mil- 
lionaire, accustomed to such a dinner every night of 
his life, yet am I in reality nothing but a wretched 
pauper who is about to pay off an old, old score.” 

Arrived in London, Arthur’s first step was of 
course to learn news of Edith, and then to hunt up 
Joe. He had already learnt that they were married, 
but also that they had disagreed, and were living a cat 
and dog life of the very worst sort. 

I suppose the poor child has heard all about his 
money-making, he thought, and despised him accord 
ingly. 

What his future course of action would be, Arthur 
really did not know himself. All he knew was that 
revenge was nigh at hand — the day of retribution had 


come. 


S08 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


He’d confront Darvell with his proofs and then — 
well, that would be revenge. 

When a man’s mind is full of retaliation, he is in 
no fit state for mapping out a future programme, re- 
venge is what he seeks — and that is all he knows and 
all he cares. So in order to procure that revenge, 
Arthur called on Darvell at his club. He was away, 
gone abroad. This was a staggerer — Where had he 
gone ?” 

“ Hound the world ; he and his wife had started on 
the grand tour, and wore to take Australia on their 
way.” 

This was pretty astounding new T s. Why, he, 
Arthur, must have passed his precious friend at sea. 

People told him that the Darvells were hard up — 
some sudden loss severely affected them ; they had 
shut up their house, and determined upon a year’s 
economy and travel. 

“Sudden losses,” thought Arthur. Knowing 
what he knew, he could pretty well picture to him 
self what those sudden losses were — a second Deau- 
ville in trouble, or some traitors in the camp. Yes, 
and he must be a bit uneasy in his mind too, to bolt 
off like that. 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


1100 


“ You’ll iind him changed,” said the friend from 
whom he learnt this news. 

“ How so?” 

“ Well, lie’s been looking rather worried and ill 
ever since he married, and I fancy he has had a little 
private way of drowning these worries.” 

“ How do you mean ?” 

u They say he has gone in rather strongly for the 
B. and S. cure ; if he doesn’t knock it off soon, he’ll 
be a wreck before very long.” 

“ And his wife? ” pursued Arthur 

“ Oh, she, poor little woman, looks like a ghost. 
They say she really never cared for Darvell, you 
know ; rumor says she only married him out of pique, 
and because he was so persevering. Why, they say he 
had sworn to marry her two years ago. She refused 
him then— there was someone else in the case ; some- 
one else went away, and Joe’s perseverance told— it 
always does. I believe any man can marry any 
woman if he only just lays seige to her and doesn’t 
give it up till she gives in.” 

“ Yes,” answered Arthur, dreamily, for- he was 
scarcely listening as his friend babbled on without 


310 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


greatly caring whether his audience were attentive or 
the reverse. 

“ Someone else — and he went away ?” 

Yes, that was all he heard of this explanation of 
Joe’s success. The someone else who went away 
why did he go away ? Because a band of conspirators 
plotted his ruin, and put him out of the way. Perse- 
verance forsooth ! Yes, any perseverance could suc- 
ceed if to it be added an utter want of scruples, and 
conduct which teemed with treachery and deceit. 
“ His perseverance had succeeded !” And Arthur 
almost ground his teeth in the smoking room of the 
club ; but luckily he did not quite so far forget him- 
self. 

He smiled blandly at his communicative compan- 
ion, and to change the subject asked what there was 
going on worth seeing in the theatre line ; bat though 
his lips were uttering this trifling question, his inner 
self was literally boiling with rage. u Yes, he perse- 
vered — well, then, I’ll have perseverance too ; I’ll 
hunt him — track him to the very ends of the earth. 
I followed Deauville till I found him ruling over a 
savage horde in the Southern Seas, his sovereignty 
dependent upon the feathers which were pasted upon 


PARIS AND LONDON. 


.‘Ill 

his skin— if I found him as far out of the world as 
that, there can be no difficulty in finding that arch- 
traitor, Darvell. Yes, I’ll find him.” 

And as he came to that conclusion, and almost 
ground his teeth for the second time, he smiled and 
in a slightly bored manner said, 

“Oh, the Gaiety. Will I dine with you first 
Thanks, you’re very good ; I think I shall like it.” 

“ All right,” replied the other, 

“Then meet me here at 7 o’clock. We must dine 
early, as the first piece is worth seeing.” 

How bored and superficial appear the majority of 
our jeunesse doree ; I wonder if they are so in reality. 
Have they no cares — no troubles? Ah, I don’t 
believe it — they have. The more they smile, the 
more they hide. 

And thus, according to my theory, our hero, light- 
ing a fresh cigar in the hall, putting on his glossy tall 
hat, and glancing down at his flower to see if it were 
still fresh, walked down the steps ; then sauntered 
along Pall Mall and up St. James Street, as though 
he had not a care in the wide, wide world, or any 
object in life more important than how on earth he 
should get through the weary hours till it would be 
time to dress for dinner. 


312 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


CHAPTER. XXVII 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB, 


“ Do they ever think of me at all, 

And the fun we used to share ? 

It gives me a pleasant hour or two, 

And I’ve none too many to spare 
This dull blood runs as it used to run, 

And the spent flame flickers up, 

As I think of the cheers that rang in my ears, 

When I won the garrison cup.” — Gordon 

few days later, hehold Arthur once again en 



l\ route, tearing across ths continent to Brind- 
isi, thence to Suez, where, his steamer not yet through 
the canal, it was necessary to pass a night in that most 
uncomfortable of cities. 

All things have their uses, and the discomfort of 
Suez and its pretentious hotel enable one to embark 
upon the steamer for a long voyage with a light heart, 
and a feeling of pleasure at the exchange you are 
making, being one for the better. The cabin being 
luxury compared to the hole you leave, and the food 
a perfect feast. 

By this means the voyage is begun in a proper 
spirit, and the intending passenger enabled to take a 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


313 


most optimistic view of the future weeks. But they are 
long, dreary weeks, those weeks upon a mail-steamer. 

Some people there are who seem to revel in this 
time which so slowly passes by, but I fancy that the 
majority of mankind is inclined to regard that period 
as one of penance. 

It is all very well to say that “ it is really delight- 
ful to have no post, no paper in the morning, nothing 
to worry you, nothing to annoy.” In theory this is 
bliss, but a little of it goes a very long way ; and then 
on the first day you have to make up your mind 
whether you intend to be genial or a morose passenger. 
If the former, good-bye to peace ; if the latter, there 
is no doubt but that you will feel lonely, and most 
certainly extremely bored. One’s own company is 
very desirable, for a time, but four weeks of it may 
possibly become monotonous. 

Thus at starting, you are confronted with a 
dilemma indeed. 

But there is one comfort which all travellers 
should lay to heart, and that is, that passengers are a 
race apart ; they are a kind of amphibious people 
whom one never meets except at sea, and once on 

land, they melt away to be beheld no more. 

14 


314 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


Much as I have travelled, and many as are the 
hundreds of passengers whom I have known, yet can 
I call to mind but very rare instances in which I ever 
came across a fellow traveller again. 

Therefore, I think I should certainly recommend 
you when you travel, to be a genial passenger — prom- 
ise future sprees, future expeditions, and swear 
eternal friendship, perhaps even eternal love. It is 
very safe, experientia docet , it whiles the hours away, 
and commits you to nothing at all. 

Once in harbor, we fly for our hand bags, our 
straps and rugs ; we throng towards the gangway, with 
our “petite bdgages ” in our hands — there is scarcely 
time to say farewell. And the eyes of passengers — 
they never see us more. 

It goes without saying, that Arthur was a tolera- 
bly genial passenger ; he had had too much of his own 
company when in the bush, to be particularly desirous 
of indulging in it when necessity did not absolutely 
compel ; and besides which, he wished to escape from 
liis own thoughts, and to have other interests and 
other ideas. 

It may be all very alluring to sit at home and 
nurse the tire of vengeance, but after a week or two 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


315 


of this kind of existence, one’s mind requires some 
lighter food upon which to relieve its attention. 
Therefore, in this instance, the lighter food presented 
itself in the shape of passengers and their eccentric 
little ways. 

Arthur had always been fond of studying human 
nature — you see he had rather prided himself upon 
his discernment. Witness how easily he had fath- 
omed the characters of Darvell, and some others of 
his intimate friends. And here there was a greater 
variety of the human species than had often been pre- 
sented to him before. 

“ The proper study of mankind is man.” This 
was said before the days of steamboats, or they might 
have been mentioned as the fitting place for such pur- 
suit of knowledge. Therefore our hero was able to 
indulge in proper study for the rather lengthy period 
of four long weeks. 

Well, the voyage came to an end, as everything 
does if only one waits long enough, and once more 
Arthur stepped ashore in Australia. He landed at 
Melbourne— or rather Williamstown, and took the 
train for that city. He had been to Melbourne before, 
so I fear I have no excuse for describing this charm- 


316 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


ing spot, much as I should like to indulge myself, by 
once again seeing, if in fancy only, that stately town, 
its hospitable mansions and kindly people. 

But I may mention the club, for Arthur took a cab 
and drove there direct, and the Melbourne Club is sec- 
ond to none in point of comfort and the cordial wel- 
come which is accorded to travellers from all parts of 
the world. 

It is indeed a delightful place, and among my most 
golden recollections are those cheery dinners partaken 
in company of cheery people in that cosy dining-room. 
And after dinner the coffee — brought to you upon the 
little terrace outside the smoking room, where one can 
revel in the cool evening air after the heat of that sul- 
try day, and the eye refresh itself by gazing at the 
greenest grass that art or nature ever grew. It is 
green, that grass — ever green ; and upon it roam those 
wondrous birds, those laughing jackasses. They are 
silent now while you are gay, but to-morrow, when you 
sit there alone with your paper and your thoughts, your 
spirits perhaps a little less hilarious than they were on 
yester-niglit, then those birds are gay, then they chuckle 
with wicked mirth, and seem to mock you as you 
strive to read. 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


817 


They not only laugh these merry birds — but cer- 
tain am I, that they possess the very keenest sense of 
humor that bird or man has ever yet achieved. 

Arthur took a room and then ordered his dinner. 
Yes, he too, would soon be sitting beside that grass, an 
object of criticism for those two observant birds, who 
at this moment were hoarding up their derisive pity 
for the coming morn. But they will have enough to 
do to-morrow if they intend to deride all those who, 
to-night, are late, for the club is nearly full. 

Members have come from far and near, for to mor- 
row is the Melbourne cup, and after that a ball. 

Yes, a ball at the club : those sacred precincts were 
going to be opened to female gaze, and wives and sis- 
ters permitted to wander in and out among those lux- 
urious rooms and see for themselves what it is — this 
club which takes the men away. 

Although Arthur’s mind was pretty full of Darvell 
and his heart beating high at the idea of once more 
beholding Edith — how would she receive him, and 
how would she look ? — yet the thought of a race-meet- 
ing was something not to be scorned. 

To come straight from a long voyage where life is 
but stagnation at the very best, to this throng of 


318 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


cheery, jolly fellows, this scene of excitement and liv- 
ing life was a pretty good contrast. It was almost like 
the time when he arrived for the Randwiek Races, 
raw and uncivilized, from the backwoods of Curren- 
dore. 

And this is what the majority of people now in 
Melbourne had actually done. They had come down 
from their stations for this one week, bringing with 
them the money for its expenses ; and, as times had 
been good, and rain plentiful, those expenses were 
well provided for. 

They were like boys out for a holiday ; they 
were indeed let loose from school — the school of 
work, — one and all come to have a good time and 
reward themselves for long months of work and 
self-denial. 

This is one reason why an Australian race-meeting 
is such glorious fun, for all come to it as to a 
promised outing ; it is a gathering of friends, a renew- 
al of acquaintance. Each individual appears upon the 
scene with the intention of enjoying himself ; and pro- 
vided one starts with this determination, the enjoy- 
ment part is not unlikely to follow. 

How different to an English race-meeting, where 


THE MELBOURNE CLUB. 


319 


we all go because we always do, just as we go to 
Cowes, or to Scotland, on the 12th. 

We perhaps do not expect to enjoy ourselves at 
all ; we may be very bored, more likely we shall be 
than not — but yet we go. 

However, I am not relating one of England’s ster- 
eotyped race-meetings, nor am I about to speak to you 
of that assemblage of beauty, rank, and fashion, which 
one may see any day at Ascot, Goodwood, or similar 
places. We all know these, but I doubt if we all do 
know of the Melbourne Cup and the real actual enjoy- 
ment which those two words include. 


320 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


The flag is lowered, * They’re off,’ ‘ They come/ 
The squadron is sweeping on, 

A sway in the crowd — a murmuring hum 

‘They’re here,’ ‘They’re past,’ ‘ They’re gone/ 
They came with the rush of the Southern surf, 

On the bar of the storm girt bay, 

And like muffled drums on the sounding turf, 

Their hoof-strokes echo away.” — Gordon 


RTHUR did not mean to bet — tliat was a)l 



over ; lie was pretty weak and undecided, as 


may have been gathered by any reader of this" toler- 
ably veracious history, but he was not so weak as all 


that. He had once argued his conscience into back- 


ing a horse because he considered that the end justi- 
fied the means — but now there was no end in view, 
and so to bet on this occasion would, on the face of it, 
have been an extremely unjustifiable proceeding. 

But he intended to enjoy himself — there was no 
mistake about that. And sitting on the top of the 
drag, with his dear old friends, the glasses, strapped 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


321 


across liis shoulders, his face beamed with smiles as 
brightly as did any other in that long line of vehicles 
which was journeying along the hot and dusty road to 
Flemmington Race-course. 

He was not going to bother his head about Darvell 
just now ; he had heard that he and his wife were in 
India, and likely to travel on to Australia in the 
course of a month. Their movements were known to 
him — the time would come for that long-expected in- 
terview ; but meantime let him make hay while the 
sun shone. 

Some people have an idea that any man who is 
oppressed with misfortune, or has some particular 
object in view, which pervades his thoughts or 
monopolizes his attention, is, on the face of it, incapa- 
ble of being in good spirits and enjoying the good 
things which may come before him. 

This is quite wrong. If the man be young, pro- 
viding also be is possessed at the start, of a tolerably 
happy temperament, I doubt much if anything can 
altogether absorb his attention, or any misfortune or 
depression in his affairs be sufficiently desperate to 
deprive him of all India rubber- like tendencies. 

He may say so — he may declare that he is a miser- 
14 * 


322 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


able being whose life is overcast ; — but place before 
him some pleasure in which he once took delight — let 
him partake of that pleasure under agreeable circum- 
stances, and amidst a lot of cheery companions, then 
will I wager that none will be more gay than he, and 
no one, in all that glad company, more likely to enjoy 
a better time than our poor broken-hearted, morbid 
friend. 

And Arthur scarcely, as I said, looked morbid 
upon the top of that coach. His pulses beat high, his 
face was flushed with anticipation, and for him — at 
that moment — Darvell, and even his wife, the lawyer 
in Paris, and the feathered chief, were as though they 
had never been. 

All he was conscious of was the present, and the 
present wasn’t bad. 

What a scene it was — that hill so packed with peo- 
ple — that enormous crowd — but enormous though it 
was, not one whit did it matter, for situated at the foot 
of the hill, below the crowd, was the stand, where the 
ladies could seat their dainty selves away from the 
noise and din of vulgar men. 

Away on the right, some little distance off, stood the 
bookmakers — so near and yet so far — so far that their 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


323 


dreadful tumult could not annoy, or even interrupt the 
conversation of that bevy of beauty within the stand ; 
so near, that their voices could come floating on the 
wind, bearing with them that soupQon of gambling, that 
tinge of excitement, which even to those who never 
bet, is perhaps a part of the fun of the show. 

“ Two to one bar one ” is not an intellectual cry, but 
it is certainly not a depressing one, and a race meeting 
without that suggestive sound would, I imagine, be as 
unattractive as the saltless egg. 

But in front of the stand the bevy and their 
attendants have nothing to spoil the view except the 
expanse of lawn glistening with fountains, and brilli- 
ant with flowers ; upon which lawn they are already 
dying to saunter along, in order to show unto their 
friends, themselves, their escorts, and their gowns. ' 
Beyond the lawn lies the course, every inch of which 
can be clearly seen. 

Yes, Flemmington is an ideal place for a race-meet- 
ing. And on the other side of the course, like at the 
Derby on the hill, is ranged a dense crowd, inter- 
mingled with a mass of carriages, cabs, and drags. 

On the left of the stand, at the lower end of the 
lawn, there is seen a long, open shed, or rather long 


324 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


roof, of some hundred yards in length, and at close 
intervals beneath that friendly shelter are laid out 
little tables which groan beneath the weight of food — 
those little tables being the property of the various 
ladies in yonder stand. 

Yes, certainly they understand comfort; and how 
to go racing, without inconvenience, in Australia is 
almost an art. It may rain, the lawn may be soaked — 
it may be too wet to race with any certainty — calcula- 
tions may be upset — outsiders may come romping home 
— an ulster may even conceal the glory of your gown ; 
but to these misfortunes is not added that usually cul- 
minating one — the misfortune of being obliged to 
angle for a floating mouthful upon a plate that swims 
in rain ; or compelled to toss off your champagne be- 
fore the exact moment demanded by your thirst, for 
fear lest one second’s delay may convert it into water 
just slightly tinged with wine. 

Rain can be better borne if the lunch is eaten in 
comfort. 

But I must stop this description — His Excellency, 
the Governor, is coming now ; he is driving up the 
course— people cheer— by-standers lift their hats, and 
the band is preparing for a “ God Save The Queen.” 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


325 


Followed by bis staff, PL's Excellency walks up to 
the vice-regal box, which is in the centre of the stand, 
adorned with carpets and decorated with flowers ; yes, 
it is all very comfortable. Below his box is a room 
set apart, where the committee have prepared a lunch 
for some twenty-four people, in order that this repre- 
sentative of the Queen can lunch luxuriously and well. 

ISTow the numbers go up, and the day’s sport 
begins. The bookmakers roar — the backers run to 
and fro — the stand empties and then refills — the bell 
rings — glasses are levelled to the eyes — voices uncon- 
sciously cry out, as the horses come nearer and nearer. 
The hubbub deepens, that vast multitude is shouting 
like one — the post is reached — the race is over — the 
number is hoisted — glasses are shut up and put into 
their cases — men who have been wrapped up in the 
spectacle before them become conscious that other 
people, ladies, are by their side ; they relinquish their 
excitement, and return to real life with a start. 

What a reductio ad ahsurdum it is ; but, absurd 
as it may seem, they hasten to proffer offers of “a 
walk,” and are soon escorting the charming compan- 
ion upon the green grass of the lawn. 

Other men, less galant, snap up their glasses and 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


oo/» 

O-vO 

away to the ring, thirsting for information, or pernaps 
a B. and S. For, oh, how hot it is, and yet no one 
could venture to appear at that most fashionable gath- 
ering without the conventional tall hat. 

But graviora dicam , tall hats and first races ! what 
are they when the Cup is yet unrun % and its time has 
come at last. Now hearts are beating high, now the 
excitement of weeks has reached its culminating 
point — now betting books are opened and hurriedly 
added up — now “ the ring” renew their cries — now 
the knowing ones pursue you with their tips — now 
the ladies question with unceasing inquiry — now the 
horses gallop past — now the crowd proclaims “ they’re 
off.” 

Then a sea of faces — a roar of voices — a thunder 
of hoofs — a flash of color — a babel of tongues ; some 
thousand eyes are gazing, twixt hope and fear upon 
the board which shall announce their fate. 

The race is over — the race is won, the number 
goes up once more. The speculation of weeks is set 
at rest, and the “ Cup Day ” is now numbered with 
those others already passed. 

Then what a surging there is to the lawn ; clothes 
can be shown and bonnets criticised in real sober ear- 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


327 


nest. There is nothing to distract attention now, the 
race is over and the realities of the day begun. 

And following the example of others, Arthur 
Dacre shuts up his glasses and wanders on to the lawn. 
In spite of himself, he had felt the excitement. True, 
he had had no bets — but there was enough in that 
race to set his pulses going, and bring a lump to his 
throat as though once again his future depended on 
the issue ; and his eyes still sparkling with pleasure, 
the pleasure of delicious suspense, he stepped upon the 
lawn. 

“ Do you see that tall woman in yellow V ’ said his 
companion. 

“ Where P 

“ Over there by the fountain ; she is an English- 
woman. They say she is awfully pretty — what do you 
think P 

“ Well, I don’t quite see her,” answered Arthur 
listlessly, without, it seemed, troubling himself too 
much to look, “ do you mean that yellow gown over 
there P 

“Yes,” replied his companion, following the direc- 
tion of his eyes “ I wish she’d turn round again, 
so that you could see her face.” And almost as she 


328 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


spoke, the owner of the yellow gown, who had thus 
attracted their attention, turned, and they saw 
her. 

Yes, if Arthur’s heart had beaten with excitement 
just now, it was at this moment thumping with a feel- 
ing of suffocation. The face was the face of Edith — 
his first and only love. 

“ What did you say her name was ?” he asked in 
such a husky voice that the girl by his side looked at 
him before she answered. 

“ Mrs. Darvell.” 

“ Do you know her ?” 

“ No,” she said, “ they have only just come ; I 
believe Mr. Darvell brought a letter to papa, and that 
is how I heard their name.” 

“ And is he here ?” 

“ Yes, I see him.” 

And then at last Arthur’s gaze rested upon his 
rival and his enemy. 

Yes, there he was — it was Joe — but how alter- 
ed. As spick and span as of yore, as beautifully 
got up and as insouciant in appearance — but so 
changed. Thin and drawn, he looked but a ghost of 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


329 


his former self ; his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks 
hollow. 

If he had wanted revenge, Arthur felt he had it 
now. How could a man so broken down as his former 
friend enjoy life ? No, his ill-gotten gains had done 
him no good. 

What would be all the mines of Golconda were a 
man a slave to drink ; so long as he has sufficient to 
procure that, what other money does he want ? — his 
punishment had begun already. 

And Edith — beautiful as ever, but more ethereal 
looking — more transparently delicate, with a strange, 
wan expression upon her proud, cold face as though 
she, too, had suffered. 

What a life these two must have led. And as he 
looked, Arthur’s heart went out anew to this girl, 
whose life had been so cruelly blighted, being wooed 
and won by a villain — suddenly confronted with the 
knowledge of crime, haunted by the presence of vice ; 
too proud to show her hurt, while presenting a brave 
face to the world. 

Poor girl, at Sandown that day, she had said 
it was right to meet misfortune with a firm front — 
’twas thus she met it now. 


THE MELBOURNE CUP. 


Arthur can scarcely now recollect what took place 
at the meeting which followed. He only knows that 
somehow or other he took his companion back to the 
stand ; he has a vague remembrance of shaking hands 
with Edith, and glancing at Joe’s outstretched hand, 
and cheery voice of welcome. 

“What is it, old boy?” Joe had said, as Arthur 
drew back with a frown, “ are you mad ?” 

But for all answer to these words and Edith’s ques- 
tioning look, he had stridden away, and was lost in the 
crowd. 

The Darvells soon drove home ; poor Edith was 
quite upset at this rencontre with her old friend. 
Her husband, of course, put down Arthur’s display of 
animosity to his chagrin at finding him the successful 
rival, the lucky winner of Edith’s hand. 

It was odd, he thought, that such a perfect gentle- 
man as Arthur should so far forget himself, but doubt- 
less the suddenness of the meeting had upset him, and 
left him scarcely responsible for his actions. But yet 
his conscience possessed too great a load of self- 
reproach for it to be altogether satisfied with this 
otherwise plausible explanation. 


THE BALL. 


331 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE BALL. 

For a weary look on the proud face hung, 

While the music clash’d and swell’d.”— G ordon. 

Y OU would scarcely have recognized the Mel- 
bourne Club that night. Rooms brilliantly 
lighted and their furniture disarranged ; chairs usually 
held sacred for those old gentlemen who, from time 
immemorial, had been seated therein, and which no 
one would, for worlds, have dared disturb, were now 
pushed far away into distant corners, where flirted 
young women and young men. 

The band was playing, the company was dancing, 
the walls were lined with bejewelled dowagers, whose 
eyes ever and anon strayed from watching their prec- 
ious charges, to take another look at those spacious 
rooms, or peep through the vista of open doors 
beyond. 

Outside upon the terrace, sat the couples who pre- 


332 


THE BALL. 


ferred their own exclusive company to joining in the 
dance, and before them, watching and chuckling, 
blinked but half-awake those all- observant birds, as it 
were, in their sleep, storing up food for laughter on 
the morrow’s dawn. 

Yes, it was a great ball. All Melbourne was there, 
at least all the upper ten, and there are few societies 
able to make a better show on an occasion of this sort 
than the inhabitants of this beautiful town. 

The owners of those stately mansions upon the 
Toorak road were there ; St. Kilda had sent its belles ; 
Richmond, too, contributed its share. 

There was Mrs. Stonenge, whose fame as a hostess 
is world-renowned ; she had on her latest gown from 
Paris, and went gliding across the floor the best dancer 
of them all. 

There was Mrs. Boswell, most popular of ladies, her 
whereabouts could always be seen owing to the little 
crowd of men who pursued her to clamor for “just 
one turn.” There was nothing wrong about her danc- 
ing, you may rest assured. 

The beauty was there, St. Kilda’s pride, radiant as 
the morn ; her eyes sparkling with real and unaffected 
pleasure. There yonder, too, the charming daughter 


THE BALL. 


383 


of a millionaire; lucky will be lie who secures this 
prize. 

Then walking through that door is the tall form of 
handsome Mrs. Morris, leaning upon the arm of our 
friend, George Treadwell, who, if rumor be right, is 
unable to tear himself away from too fascinating Aus- 
tralia. There too beams and smiles the jolliest Scot- 
tish lassie that men or woman ever saw ; alas, she is 
soon destined to join the ranks of those who are mar- 
ried, done for, and spirited across the seas to settle in 
another land. 

But who is that, seated in the far-off corner, so 
sweetly pretty, in reality the fairest of all those assem- 
bled here ? 

A young married lady she is, with the sweetest 
smile upon her lovely face ; a saddish smile it is, but 
perhaps that is why ’tis sweet. 

Above were some among that gathering of beauty 
which greeted Arthur Dacre as he entered the ball- 
room. 

Shall I tell you of the men ? No. The women 
appear at every moment different, like comets they 
burst upon you with renewed radiance, on each occa- 
sion they change their dress, and in a ball-room, for 


334 


THE BALL. 


example, is an excellent opportunity for individualiz- 
ing these fairies and their costumes. 

But the men ! On the race-course you might 
individualize them ; across country — at a dinner-table, 
even, but in a ball-room — no. Here they are a lot, a 
crowd — simply “ the men,” and as necessary to the 
success of a ball as are the sofas, the supper, or the 
band. 

But their individuality matters not at all, for one 
man leaning against the wall of a brilliantly-lighted 
apartment is just the same as his neighbor, who is also 
leaning, also gazing at the dazzling crowd. Therefore 
I will not here undertake to pilot you through the dif- 
ficult task of recognizing the heroes of the beau monde 
of Melbourne society, but announce simply that they 
are all there. Nimrod, Jehu, Apollo, and all the 
rest of them. 

And of course the Governor was there with all his 
vice-regal court, and dancing with him at this mo- 
ment is the beautiful Englishwoman, Mrs. Joseph 
Darvell, acknowledged as almost (observe the “ al- 
most ” she is a stranger, you see) the prettiest person 
in that room to-night. 

Looking at that slender figure, Arthur felt that he 


THE BALL. 


335 


could scarcely find it in his heart to bring ruin and 
disgrace upon this woman whom he had so loved and 
still so loved. 

u But she might have been mine,” he said, and 
then, as that thought rose before him, all pity for her 
was lost in that great pity he felt for himself. 

“Was it not pity for her too?” he would have 
argued, “ pity that her fate was not a happier one,” 
had anyone ventured to tell him that his emotion was 
a selfish one withal. No, he would have his revenue : 
that villain should not continue to enjoy the good 
things of this world with impunity. 

He would tear the mask from before his face, and 
send him forth without disguise; recognized, exe- 
crated, known. Mr. Joseph Darvell, the sleek and 
kindly gentleman should soon be known as Darvell, 
the liar, swindler and thief. 

And Edith ? Well, if she still loved him — hadn’t 
that man at the club said there was a someone else — if 
she still loved him, why not come to him ? 

Where would be the crime in taking her away from 
an outcast and a knave? Would it be wrong to rescue 
her from such a fate, and take her with him to some 
happy home, away from life, away from men, where 


336 


THE BALL. 


all liis remaining years could be devoted to making 
her forget the past, and find new happiness in the 
future ? 

Would she come? Would she agree? How 
often he asked himself this question, how could he ask 
her, was it right to do so ? 

“ Yes, it was right,” he said at last. (If you want 
a thing, it is odd how easy it is to discover arguments 
to meet the case and prove that what you wish is 
right.) “ Surely it is better to commit a crime before 
men than a wrong in the face of God.” 

To allow this pure and spotless being to continue a 
life of misery, a death in life with this villain, this 
thief, whose ill-gotten wealth must be an abomination 
to her, his very life a stain upon her spotless soul, were 
surely far worse than to take her away in teeth of 
what men say, to place her in a haven of rest, a home 
of peace, where he could cherish her, and live for her 
alone. Yes, this evening he would learn his fate ; it 
was only right that he should rescue this peerless 
woman, who was bowing to him now, but withdraw- 
ing her gaze almost as soon as she had done so, as 
though afraid to catch his eye. But first he would 
reckon with her husband. 


THE BALL. 


337 


Her husband, — yes, that devil was her husband, 
and there was no gainsaying that fact ; and after all, 
though the cards were in his hands, Arthur felt his 
task was no light one to perform. 

Husbands are pretty real realities, and when a plan 
hinges upon their erasure or disappearance, it does not 
take very much to upset that plan. 

I fear you will not be disposed to commend Arthur 
in the course he is undertaking, or the light and easy 
way in which he proposes to amend the past, and 
make his dear love happy. But recollect what he had 
been through — remember how he had been robbed, 
cheated, deceived, — think how this poor girl had suf- 
fered — think how she had been falsely wooed and 
falsely won — and above all look at her now with that 
sad, ethereal look upon her face, a look of suffering, a 
look of unutterable weariness, the weariness of a proud 
spirit humbling, a spotless honor dragged daily in the 
dust. 

Look on her thus, and if you are a man, would 
you not, in Arthur’s place, have felt that nothing, no, 
not even the ties of marriage, should prevent you 
from saving that sweeet young life, even if it were 
15 


338 


THE BALL. 


to be at the expense of the censure of the world in 
which you lived ? 

Would you be wrong? In the letter? yes — in 
the spirit ? — that question you must answer for your- 
selves. And as Edith Darvell passed through that 
doorway, Arthur Dacre’s mind was made up. He 
would seek out this man and meet him face to 
face. 

Acting on the impulse, he sought him, and then 
going straight towards him, and speaking quickly 
said : 

“ Mr. Darvell, I am anxious to speak to you — you 
will find me in the library up stairs where we can be 
alone ; can you oblige me by coming at once ?” And 
then he left him. 

Wondering, Darvell followed, and in a moment’s 
time the door had closed upon those two men — they 
were at last together and alone. 


FACE TO FACE. 


339 


CHAPTER XXX. 

FACE TO FACE. 

“ And I know that if here or there alone, 

I found him fairly and face to face ; 

Having slain his body I would slay my own, 

That my soul to Satan his soul might chase. ” — Gordon. 

D ARYELL was the first to speak. “Well, 
Arthur,” he said, what is it, and what on earth 
does all this tragic behavior mean ? This afternoon you 
refused my hand, and now you request me to come 
and speak to you, as though you had discovered some 
wonderful plot and wished to confide in me — surely 
you can’t be jealous because — because I have perhaps 
had better luck than you ?” 

When he had finished, Arthur, who had been lean- 
ing against the mantelpiece, raised himself to his full 
height, and then walking towards Darvell, looked at 
him — looked right into his eyes with a look which 
seemed to pierce him through, and observe the written 
secrets of his heart. 

Darvell shrank before that glance and turning 


340 


FACE TO FACE. 


aside from it, would have walked towards a seat, but 
Arthur arrested him by laying his hand upon his 
shoulder, and saying. 

“ We were once friends, Darvell.” 

“ Yes, of course we were,” laughed the other, 
uneasily, “ but why the ‘ once ’ — aren’t we friends 
now ?” 

“ Wo were good friends, bosom friends, almost?” 
continued Arthur, unheeding the interruption. 

“ Yes, we were.” 

‘ ‘ Then as we were friends then, great friends, 
true friends, so now are we foes — enemies, and for- 
ever. Yes, Darvell, you said I acted as though I had 
discovered a plot. Many a true word is spoken in 
jest — I have discovered a plot, worse than a plot — a 
conspiracy and a fraud, led by a villain and a scoun- 
drel, and that leader is you.” 

“ Dacre,” said Darvell, starting back, “ what are 
you saying? Have a care— if you are joking, this is 
carrying your joke too far.” 

“ I do not jest, I would I did — each word I speak 
is true. You are a swindler — you are a thief ; while 
pretending friendship, with inconceivable duplicity 
you fooled me — with splendid deceit you jockeyed me 


FACE TO FACE. 


341 


out of the prize we both desired. Ah, devil, I’ll be 
even with you yet,” and Arthur hissed almost into the 
face of his former friend. His passion was loose now, 
and he knew no restraint ; the vengeance which for 
months, he had pursued, had now reached a climax — 
what was the good of it all ? 

“ Mr. Dacre, you must substantiate your words ; 
you are either mad ; or have been drinking. I will 
leave you now, but of course I shall to-morrow 
demand satisfaction for what has passed — no madness, 
no delirium, can excuse such words as you have said.” 

u Ho, I am not mad — I am not drunk, except per- 
haps with passion. Great God, how can I keep my 
hands from wringing your vile, deceitful neck. Don’t 
think to brazen it out with me — I know you to be 
what I have said, I have proofs.” 

Darvell, for the first time during this interview, 
turned pale, and his bold front seemed as though it 
might desert him. 

“ Yon know — you have proofs ?” he said, and then 
he laughed — “ bah, impossible, you rave man, let me 
pass.” 

“ I do not rave,” replied Arthur, placing his back 
to the door — “ I know all — Deauville told me.” 


342 


FACE TO FACE. 


“Deauville ! — Deauville is dead.” 

“ Scarcely. He is alive and I have met him.” 

“ You lie,” screamed Darvell, now almost beside 
himself between passion and fear,” — “ you lie.” 

“ Lie — do you dare say ?” answered Arthur, tear- 
ing a packet of papers from his pocket — “ lie, you say, 
I think,” he went on, “ then eat that word, by heav- 
ens, I should like to make you swallow that ‘ lie, 5 you 
blackhearted villain,” and he waved the papers in his 
face. “ Look, 55 he cried, “ look at this ;” and unfold- 
ing it, there appeared before the other’s astonished 
gaze the long list of signatures copied from the orig- 
inal in the hands of the Paris lawyer, “ shall I force 
this down your lying throat — shall 1 ?” 

But there was no reason to persuade the guilty 
man by any such violent measures, for at sight of that 
document his bravado left him — he staggered back, 
and almost fell in a heap against the wall — the game 
was up. 

“ What will you do ?” he gasped at length, after a 
pause, during which Arthur was looking at him with 
unutterable contempt. 

“ Do ? What will I do ?” he laughed, with a hor- 


FACE TO FACE. 


348 


rible laugh of triumph — u do ? I’ll ruin you, you cur 
—I’ll imprison you, you cheat, I’ll ” — 

“Yes, what else will you do, Mr. Dacre?” inter- 
rupted a cold, hard voice ; and at that moment the 
door was opened, and Edith, calm and beautiful, 
walked majestically into the room. “ Continue, Mr. 
Dacre,” she said, as that gentleman shrank back, look- 
ing almost as cowed and foolish as his wretched 
enemy himself, “ I am here to listen to your exceed- 
ingly noble and charitable intentions, which, as they 
relate to my husband, and therefore to myself, as his 
wife, I consider I have a right to hear, nor am I act- 
ing beyond my rights in demanding to be present at 
this exposition of your future plans.” 

To account for Mrs. Darvell’s presence upon the 
scene at this moment, I should mention, that ever 
since their meeting with Arthur that afternoon, and 
his refusal to accept her husband’s hand, she had felt 
that there was something wrong. 

Her woman’s wit could better guess its meaning 
than Joe himself, in his fancied safety and long 
immunity from detection, could possibly do. There- 
fore she had determined to see Arthur alone, find out 
from him, by dint of a little tact, how much he knew 


344 


FACE TO FACE. 


and what he suspected. And this must be done 
before he and her husband should meet. 

Small wonder, therefore, that, on the watch lest 
this meeting should take place, she noticed the absence 
of both from the room, and when inquiring as to 
what had become of her husband, the answer was that 
he had but lately been seen going upstairs to the 
library ; thither she hastened. 

Yes, they were within — she could hear their voi- 
ces — should she enter ? Who knows what her timely 
appearance might not perhaps prevent ? And so, open- 
ing the door, she was just in time, as we witnessed, to 
hear Arthur declare what he intended to do, now that 
he knew all, and that her husband had acknowledged 
his guilt she made no doubt. 

As she ceased speaking, Mrs. Darvell drew herself 
up to her full height, and there, like some angel, stood 
between the two men. Her pale cheeks were flushed, 
her eyes sparkled with excitement, and, even in that 
moment when he felt that she had judged him and 
found him wanting, Arthur could not help gazing at 
her in admiration, thinking that she looked the very 
fairest of tie fair, a very picture of innocence, a per- 
fect type of beauty. 


FACE TO FACE. 


345 


“I did not know you were liere,” he stam- 
mered. 

“No, how should you?” she returned, coldly, “but 
do not let me interrupt you ; pray continue to tell my 
husband your plans for our future.” 

And as 6he spoke, she crossed over to where now 
that husband was sitting, his head bowed in his 
hands. 

“ Mrs. Darvell,” replied Arthur, “ this is no place 
for you ; there is some affair of importance which we 
were discussing in private, and I think that Mr. Dar- 
vell will agree with me, that it would be better for you 
to leave us — Mr. Darvell, I appeal to you.” 

Darvell nodded. 

“ This ceremony and circumlocution are useless, 
Mr. Dacre,” said Edith, “your affair of importance is 
known to me ; I am perfectly aware of all you can 
have to sa}^ to my husband— I know the plot,” she 
went on with an unnatural laugh, “ all I want to know 
now is the style of the revenge — when the good young 
man comes to the front in the end.” 

“Is it possible ?” gasped Arthur, — “you know” 

“ Yes, I know all, he told me,” pointing to the 
bowed figure in the chair, “ my husband is sometimes 
15 * 


340 


FACE TO FACE. 


very communicative, after dinner, and one night he 
confided this marvellous little tale to the wife of his 
bosom — thoughtful of him, wasn’t it V 9 with a sarcas- 
tic smile, “ but I believe he spoke the truth — was it 
not so V 9 and she touched her miserable husband on the 
arm. 

He groaned — “yes, it was.” 

“ Great Heavens,” cried Arthur, “ do you mean to 
tell me that you know all, and that you glory in your 
shame ; that you, and . that wretched thing are in 
league to play this diabolical game together ; can you 
stand there and tell me that, after knowing who and 
what he is, you can regard him with any other feelings 
save those of loathing or horror — that you stay with 
him, and even defend him ?” 

“ Mr. Dacre,” answered Edith, in clear, cutting 
tones, which, distinct as they were, yet came slowly, 
as though it cost her an effort to speak them, “ I am 
obliged to you for your chivalrous insinuations ; as to 
my feelings towards my husband — I married him for 
better or for worse ; it was ” — and here her voice fal- 
tered, but conquering this momentary weakness, she 
went on, “ it was for worse. I am married to a man 
I cannot respect, a man I have ceased to love, but no 


FACE TO FACE. 


347 


one shall say I deserted him in time of need ; I fall 
with him ; Mr. Dacre, do your worst.” 

During this speech, Darvell never moved, his 
bowed head only seemed to sink lower, as though 
beneath a weight of shame ; but Arthur gazed at this 
woman, whose nobility of soul he could no more 
fathom than could he see beyond the skies, and was 
able to do nought but vent his wonderment in 
words. 

“ Can this be possible ?” 

“ Possible that I am not a coward — possible that I 
am not a woman who is false to those vows she spoke 
before the altar and her God? Thank you, Mr. 
Dacre, for the naive astonishment which your words 
imply. I regret that you should feel amazed to find 
me by my husband’s side, whatever that husband may 
have done. Now, sir, w r e await your verdict — shall we 
leave this place at once, or will you prefer to have us 
driven hence by jibes and jeers from all the gay com- 
pany below ?” 

“ Edith,” burst forth Arthur, “ are you mad ? I 
honor you for your courage, I admire your decision, 
but you must not, shall not, sacrifice yourself for him. 
Speak, Darvell, be a man ; refuse to accept such hero- 


348 


FACE TO FACE. 


ism, you are not worthy, release this woman whose 
life you have ruined by your crimes.” 

“Edith,” murmured Darvell, “leave me, I am a 
wicked man.” 

“Ah,” cried Arthur, in triumph, “even he can 
plead your cause. Leave him, seek a new life, forget 
the past — ” 

“Mr. Dacre,” broke in those cutting tones once 
more, “ you go too far. Revenge you sought, 
revenge is here, do not add to it insult as well. We 
were friends — ” 

“We are so still,” he cried. 

“We are so still,” she went on, “ if you so wish. 
But enough of this, my mind is made up, come,” turn- 
ing to her husband, “ let us go before our shame is 
published to the world.” 

“ Oh, Edith,” cried Arthur, in a voice of suppli- 
cation, “be not so cruel — can you think I could 
revenge myself on you ? On him I have thirsted to 
wreak my hate, wipe out old scores. You, noble 
woman that you are, by arraying yourself upon his 
side, and offering to share that fate have baulked my 
vengeance — could I bring harm to you ? This venge- 
ance I have sought, for this I have toiled by day and 


FACE TO FACE. 


349 


night, I have undergone perils by land and sea. 
I have worked as a slave for convicts in the 
bush, I have thirsted and I have starved— all 
for what ? For vengeance — what is the will of 
man when Fate forbids? I see now that wish was 
wrong not only was it wrong, but you I wronged 
as well. In the days when first I loved you I knew 
not what a character was yours. You are a peer 
amongst women, an angel without a taint of ill. 
Baulked as I am, I can yet thank the God above us 
that it has been permitted to me to see the nobility of 
your mind. I worship the ground upon which you 
tread — farewell,” and here, despite his will, his voice 
broke — all strength departed, the tears came rushing 
to his eyes, and sobbing audibly, he added — “ Go in 
peace.” 

Her eyes too, were wet ; she had fought the fight 
and come forth victorious — he little knew what this 
had cost — he little guessed the mental agony, the 
awful trial through which she also may have 
passed. 

He had given up the dream of his life — his venge- 
ance; she had relinquished not only the dream, but 


350 


FACE TO FACE. 


the life itself, for the sake of honor the sake of 
right. 

Not trusting herself to speak, she bowed, then 
touching her husband on the arm, 

“ Come,” she said. 

He did not move — he seemed sunk in a kind of 
lethargy from which it was hard to wake him, the 
shock of the discovery had been too much for his 
nerves, and when at last, his wife succeeded in 
attracting his attention, he rose to his feet and tot- 
tered across the room, a seemingly old and broken 
man. 

He never looked toward Artnur again — nor did he 
either raise his eyes as his enemy and quondam friend 
went shuffling past. At the door, Edith turned, and 
extended her hand. 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Dacre,” she said, “ and thank 
you.” 

“ Oh, do not thank me,” he cried, taking the prof- 
fered hand and raising it to his lips, “ rather let me 
thank yon for having taught me right.” 

“ The path of right is hard,” faltered Edith in a 
broken voice, “ but it earns a martyr’s crown, 4 venge- 
ance is mine,’ saith the Lord.” 


FACE TO FACE. 


351 


The door shut and they were gone. On their way 
down stairs, to those few acquaintances they met, Mrs. 
Darvell explained that her husband was not feeling 
well, and she was obliged to take him home. 

“Do you feel better now,” she added, turning with 
affected solicitude to the broken, haggard man at her 
side, “ come, let us say goodnight.” 

Thus she hid his shame, and, like one in a dream, 
this once proud man bade those around good -night. 

He who had been so strong, so self-reliant, so iron 
of will and nerve, was saved by a woman. A woman 
whom he had wronged as greatly as woman can be 
wronged by man. 

And she — what was her reward ? What did she 
expect to gain as they drove home through the moon- 
lit streets ? A life of seclusion — a life of confinement 
— a living death, alone with a gambler, drunkard and 
coward — a husband she despised, detested, and feared — 
yes, feared, for when the fit was on him, the fit of 
drink, Joe had not thought it shame to strike his sweet 
young wife. Ah me ! 

They drove along in the moonlight. 

“ Two jolly swells going home from the ball,” 
quoth a passer-by to his pal, as he gazed with envy in 


352 


A. LONELY LIFE. 


his eyes at those figures upon the luxurious carriage 
seats. 

u Jolly swells!” Appearance is deceitful, ever. 

Let us never wish ourselves in others’ shoes — all is 
vanity, and many a breaking heart lies hidden beneath 
the most glittering gems that woman ever wore. 

And Joe — could they envy him ? Ha, ha, life is a 
joke — the irony of it might almost make one laugh. 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 


A LONELY LIFE. 


“ He was once my firmest and dearest friend 
And once my deadliest foe, 

But hate and friendship both find their end, 

Now I heed not where he may go.” — Gordon. 

L EFT alone in the library, Arthur experienced 
all the bitterness of remorse and self-reproach, i 
How inferior he was to that woman who had just left 
him. In his arrogance, he had presumed to map out 
a course of action which included her abandonment of 
her husband the moment she discovered the truth, 
little dreaming that she was as far above him as the 


A LONELY LIFE. 


353 


stars which were shining in the sky, and possessed of 
a calm, and unalterable sense of duty which nothing 
could change or turn aside. 

He had mapped out the future according to his 
own ideas of right. Darvell was to disappear, only too 
anxious to hide his shame ; Edith was to find a refuge 
with himself, and the entire future should be devoted 
to the atoning to each other for the bitterness of their 
past. 

Instead of that, all along Edith had lived with the 
secret of her husband’s villainy bare before her. At 
the time of trial she had refused to desert him, and 
he, Arthur Dacre, the avenger of wrong, the cham- 
pion of innocence, had been scorned, defied, and hum- 
bled. 

Y'es, the result was far different to the anticipa- 
tion ; and as he owned to the impression made upon 
him by his humiliation at the time, let us hope that in 
the future, the lesson he then learnt may be of bene- 
fit to him. 

You see, all his life, Arthur had had a most abso- 
lute belief in himself, which belief, though so fre- 
quently shaken, had never yet been wholly eradicated. 

I fancy it was pretty well eradicated now — and by a 


354 


A LONELY LIFE. 


woman. At any rate, a sadder and a humbler man 
he returned to the ballroom. 

What a contrast — this glare of light, this babble of 
voices, those faces wreathed in smiles — to that scene so 
lately left — a man bowed and broken, led away by 
his wife, with pity in her voice, but a scathing scorn 
within her heart, yet walking erect along the path of 
duty with the mien of a martyr who suffers for his 
faith. 

To Arthur, all this present gaiety seemed ex- 
tremely hollow and unfeeling. Everything is accord- 
ing to the mood in which we are ourselves ; and though 
he forbore to depart, fearing lest his hasty disappear- 
ance, so soon after that of Mr. and Mrs. Darvell, might 
perhaps provoke remark, yet his gaiety was forced — 
he could not dance. 

It is not easy to waltz with a heavy heart, for it 
seems to sink into your boots in very deed, which 
weight would prove a handicap to the best stepper 
in a room. But he stayed and saw the evening 
through ; people who had found him amusing, now 
thought him absent and a bore, and girls who had said 
that Mr. Dacre could dance divinely, now wondered 
to see him standing there so lazy all this time. 


A LONELY LIFE. 


355 


Thus, he, who at the beginning of the evening had 
in the estimation of the fair sex, ascended like a rocket, 
had now fallen like the stick. 

That morning when he went to bed, Arthur did not 
sleep ; the events of the preceding night were too fresh 
in his memory — he was forever haunted by the defi- 
ant look which flashed at him from those lovely eyes, 
as Edith Earvell entered the room where he was talk- 
ing with her husband, or that other look of beauti- 
ful triumph, the sweetest triumph human beings 
can achieve — temptation conquered — which beamed 
through her tears as the door closed on her forever. 

What was there left for him to do ? Nothing. 
What had life for him ? Nothing. 

What was the result of all his last few months, 
wherein he had braved and suffered so much ? Noth- 
ing. No, as far as he could see, his life was over — as 
far as he could see or care, there was no future at all. 
Let him away and hide. 

A disappointed man, or one who has just received 
a crushing blow, has only one impulse — the impulse to 
run away and hide, to nurse his hurt far from the 
eyes of men, where people cannot see him. 

In the enormity of his self-consciousness, he feels 


356 


A LONELY LIFE. 


the world revolves around himself, and that no one can 
help observing the bitterness of his fall. 

We are all wrapped up in self — small wonder, 
either, that we should be so, but it is wonderful that 
we should make this error of supposing that others 
are wrapped up in us as well. But yet it is so; 
although we see the great, the good, the brave, 
who die and are remembered no more, than as if they 
had not been. There are new great ones, new good 
ones, new heroes to take their place — those others are 
forgotten — and yet we venture to suppose that our 
petty, little ills can interest the world at all. 

And thus Arthur felt that he must fly away and 
hide his head — where should he go ? Back to Curren- 
dore? No, that was too public. lie could not bear 
that ; he could never more be gay and jolly with 
Atkins and his wife, nor could he hunt again or shoot 
with his old friends, the officers of the fleet, or any 
globe-trotters who might come that way. 

No, he felt sure the light of his life had gone out 
for ever — let him go right away and hide. 

Observe that this is the second time in our story 
that our hero metaphorically threw up the sponge 


A LONELY LIFE. 


357 


and wished to seek isolation from his kind, where he 
could nurse his thoughts alone. 

The first time he discovered Currendore, the 
second, a greater isolation, still. If he repeats this 
journey till all degrees of comparison as regards soli- 
tude are lost, then surely we can follow him no more. 

But this time he was quite in earnest — he would 
go to Queensland. There are real back- woods there — 
none of your playing at being in the bush ; there he 
could fly from the world, and live secure from inter- 
ruption, forever. 

Deciding thus, Arthur took ship for Brisbane ; 
there, in reply to his inquiries, he heard of a station 
which would suit him, to use liis own expression, 
down to the very ground. 

It was right, right away, no neighbor nearer than 
one hundred miles, and the estate going for a mere 
song, it having a bad name owing to the fact of the 
last owner having been but recently murdered by the 
blacks ; and no one else being desirous of risking a simi- 
lar fate, the property hung heavy upon the hands of 
the heirs. 

Many people there are who read books, myself 
among the number, who always feel intensely practical 


358 


A LONELY LIFE. 


over the pounds, shillings, and pence of a story.. 
Where did the money come from for such and such a 
thing ? Iiow on earth did he make it last ? Till 
often they come to the perhaps not unnatural, but still 
rather unkind, conclusion that the author is a fool. 

If I were reading this history for the first time, I 
should just like to know how that fellow Dacre made 
his £1,000, he won over Baccarat, last all this long 
time, and then at the end of it, he was able to buy an 
estate ! “ what awful rot.” 

Well, in case there should be any one inclined to 
follow my example, let me tell you that after the 
Rand wick Races, Arthur possessed, as we know, the 
sum of £1,100 — his original capital was £150, £50 of 
that was lost over poor Ninepin. 

His journey to Hew Caledonia cost, as far as 1 can 
recollect, some £10. While there, he never spent a 
penny — while staying with the feathered king his 
expenses were equally small. 

Conveyed back to Sydney by one of Her Majesty’s 
ships cost nothing in the way of passage money, 
though the “ wine bill ” of the Hon. Cyril Danes- 
bury may possibly have been increased during the 
voyage. 


A LONELY LIFE. 


359 


The voyage to England and back and his journey 
to Paris, could all be covered by £200. His expenses 
in London were not great. Of course he required a 
trousseau for even that brief visit — but do we not all 
know how kind are the tailors and hatters of London, 
when it is a question of providing trousseaux for old 
and valued customers ? 

Let us say that Arthur spent £100 in London — in 
ready money, that goes a very long way — that leaves 
£790. Therefore, let us suppose that Arthur Dacre 
arrived in Queensland with £750 at the very least — 
that is ample for an estate such as I now describe, 
providing you are well introduced, and your banker 
equally well disposed. 

I trust I may be pardoned this long list of expen- 
ses, but could not resist explaining what, even to my- 
self, seemed in need of explanation until I ran up the 
sum in my head. 

Thus, with what remained to him, and with what 
the bank advanced, Arthur bought the estate of Ormi- 
dalla, and blossomed into a squatter. But in order to 
squat, he had to journey to the scene of his future 
position, and that journey was really no joke at all. 

Once installed in his new home, he, for the first 


360 


A LONELY LIFE. 


time, felt that he could breathe freely — no fear of 
interruption here, he thought, my best friend or my 
worst enemy would scarcely come and see me here. 

Scarcely, I should imagine, seeing that he was 
alone in the midst of hostile blacks, who, unpunished 
for the murder of the late owner, were even bolder and 
more offensive than they had ever been before. 

But in Arthur they found they had a pretty deter- 
mined man to deal with, and after a little while they 
let him alone. 

Then things seemed to prosper with him. His sheep 
did well, and there was an abundance of rain. He 
worked hard, and it seemed as if fortune were really 
about to smile upon him at last. He had lived here 
two years now. The world and all its recollections 
seemed a very long way off ; he never wrote, and be- 
yond an occasional newspaper that found its way to 
his station, he had no news of the old country at all. 

His nearest neighbor was a crabbed old Scotchman, 
who had been settled for years in the country — he 
lived some hundred miles away. 

Yes, if Arthur had pined for seclusion, he had it 
now, and no mistake. And as I said before, things 
went well with him — but he was changed ; he was 


A LONELY LIFE. 


361 


rougher and more unkempt. Absence of civilization 
does in a manner deteriorate, and I personally have 
seen once refined, dandy men, almost revelling in the 
absence of conventionality, and the loosening of the 
bonds of modern life ; unconsciously relapsing into the 
barbarism of their fore-fathers with a complacent 
acquiescence which has often made me wonder if our 
boasted civilization were, after all, nothing but dis- 
guise. 

I do not mean to say that Arthur had as yet 
become a savage, but I very much doubt if you would 
ever have recognized in him, the fashionably dressed 
youth who had walked down Picadilly but some five 
short years ago. 

How very small and puny all those trifles, in which 
he had taken pleasure, seemed to him now — if he ever 
thought of them. But he seldom did think — he had 
had enough of that. He had carved out for himself a 
new life, and would stick to it ; he had plenty of work, 
and plenty of books— “ what could man want more? ” 
he would ask himself, if inclined to reflect upon 
his present mode of existence and compare it to that 
other he had once led. 

Though a man may think he wants no more, yet a 
16 


362 


A LONELY LIFE. 


man does. Work and books are a great deal — but they 
are not everything. A man requires companionship, 
friendship, sympathy. 

“ A fellow feeling makes us kind.” But to live 
all alone, selfishly content, is the life of a brute beast. 
Why were we given that most blessed of all qualities, 
sympathy, if it is to be buried in the earth? When 
asked what we have done with this talent — how many 
lives we have brightened — how many burdens for 
others we have borne — how many sorrows we have 
shared — is it an answer, to reply that we took it away 
with us, we lived a blameless life, and did no man any 
harm ? 

This may be negative goodness, but the talent — it 
is wasted all the same. And though Arthur thought 
he was content, yet he knew that he was not. Though 
he congratulated himself upon his prosperity, though 
he loved to think how entirely free from care he was, 
the mere fact of his reassuring himself thus, but proved 
his knowledge that he was not happy. 

It takes a little more than solitude and an absence 
of trouble to make us happy. 

“ No pleasure without pain ” is often quoted m jest 


A LONELY LIFE. 


363 


— but yet liow real it is, for is it not while suffering, 
that we sometimes are most happy ? 

Is it not pain to be torn with emotion and racked 
with passion ? And is it not while feeling thus alive, 
vacillating twixt hope and fear, anticipation and doubt, 
our whole being on the stretch, that we can understand 
what pleasure means — our sensations all open to 
receive it ? 

But we will not follow, or analyze the various 
thoughts and moods through which Arthur passed 
during these two years of his life. He had fought the 
fight of life — onoe he had been conquered by the con- 
sequences of his own youthful folly, a second time by 
a thirst for vengeance, a love for woman, and a pas- 
sionate hate ; and here, after all this, he found himself 
in some sort of harbor at last. 

I think you can picture his present life almost as 
well as I can tell it you, but he was not to continue 
thus. 


364 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


“ The deep blue skies wax dusky, and the tall green trees grow 
dim, 

The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall ; 

And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight. swim, 
And on the very sun’s face weave their pall.” — Gordon. 

HE evening, tired from liis day’s work, Arthur 



V-x had laid down to rest, intending to ride over 
to one of the paddocks after he had refreshed himself. 
Accordingly, he left his horse hitched to the pillar in 
front of the house. While smoking, he fell asleep. 
How long he slept, he did not know — but he awoke 
with a start, and that undefined sense of ill we all have 
sometime felt. 

What it was, he could not tell. He raised his 
head upon his hand and listened. What was that ? 
It was his horse snorting and plunging with fear. 

He went to the door and looked out —all was still, 
but, strange to say, his horse was sweating with fright, 
and starting from his bridle like an animal pos- 
sessed. 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


365 


What was it? He knew now. The horse had 
smelt the blacks — his keen nostrils had predicted dan- 
ger, and though Arthur could not see them, he knew 
his enemies could not be far away. 

On scenting a black, it is well known that a horse 
will exhibit every symptom of fear— it seems for a 
time to drive him mad. Realizing his danger, well 
knowing that one enemy would not have sufficed for 
the terror evinced by his favorite horse, Arthur rushed 
back into the house, seized his revolver, and sprang 
into the saddle. He would ride round and see what 
the danger was. 

The animal was quieter now ; the presence of a 
human being had, in a great measure, allayed his fear, 
but though partly reassured, he continued to snort at 
intervals and throw back his ears in token that some- 
thing was very wrong indeed. 

Peering about him, Arthur rode on — He didn’t 
like it at all. The blacks had been so quiet of late 
that he had been lulled into almost forgetting their 
very existence, and although he had become pretty 
used to them when he first came, yet he could not 
now altogether refrain from thinking upon the fate of 
his predecessor, and the horrible discovery, by the 


3G6 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


searchers, of that poor fellow’s body floating in the 
river. 

He looked in the direction of the creek, and shud- 
dered — should he be floating there? — it would perhaps 
be better to go back to the house, and await the dan- 
ger under cover. 

At that moment, a yell arose, a loud unearthly 
yell, and there before him sprang from out the 
ground, it seemed, some fifty ugly devils. 

No doubt for what they had come — they meant 
mischief, they meant murder. And Arthur, though a 
brave man, felt his blood run cold at the thought that 
it was his death they sought. 

What a death ! Slain by a horde of blacks in the 
bush, with no one to witness his fate, or tell how he 
had met his end. But only for one moment — and 
then pulling himself together, he rode slowly and 
unconcernedly in the direction of his probable ene- 
mies. 

No good running away, he thought. And so rein- 
ing in his rather unwilling steed, he rode towards the 
blacks. 

They paused, seemingly disconcerted by this unex- 
pected advance. The sight of one man’s bravery will 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


367 


often awe a howling crowd. How much more, then, 
will it awe savages, though, for the matter of that, all 
howling crowds are savages rather more than less. 

But, remembering the superiority of their num- 
bers, and probably being reassured by the fact that 
Arthur was all alone, they took heart of grace and 
yelled again. 

How a yell to a savage is as intoxicating as brandy 
to a civilized man, and the veriest coward would prob- 
ably advance were he permitted to sip his brandy as 
he went. Therefore, metaphorically speaking, the 
blacks came forward sipping brandy, or in reality, yell- 
ing, and at each sip or each successive yell, they grew 
bolder, so bold at last, that one recklessly intrepid 
warrior threw his spear. It struck the good horse’s 
flank, and as the wounded animal sprang with a snort 
into the air, so suddenly, that he nearly unseated his 
rider, blood spurted out upon the ground. 

Blood! It was all over now — small chance of 
peace, or parley with them now. Blood is even more 
intoxicating than brandy, and to a savage it is abso- 
lutely maddening in its effect. 

With renewed yells they sprang forward, hurling 
spears as they came. Blood they wanted — blood 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


they’d have ; they felt brave enough now — fifty men 
with spears springing like one upon a solitary white 
man and a wounded horse. 

Arthur realized this — nothing could stop them 
now ; his time had probably come, but he would fight 
for his life. 

He steadied himself in his saddle, and discharged 
his revolver in their midst.- Once — twice — thrice, he 
fired, each time with deadly effect, but the yells of his 
victims were drowned in the yells of defiance of their 
comrades. 

Then digging his spurs into his poor wounded 
horse, ‘he dashed at them, discharging his remaining 
barrels as he went. There was just one chance, that 
they might take alarm and flee before him — for some- 
times curs cannot cope with nature, or resist the 
impulse which bids them run. But though they wav- 
ered as he came, they stood their ground — his very 
attack seemed a confession of his weakness — he had 
not turned to call for help, therefore, he was alone. 

In one moment Arthur had ridden through the 
crowd, striking at them with the butt end of his now 
empty revolver. But he might as well have 
attempted to break a wall with his hand, as damage a 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


869 


nigger’s head with steel. Moreover, he had received 
a spear thrust upon his bridle arm, and his horse had 
also been stabbed anew ; he was almost maddened, 
too, and entirely beyond control. 

Once through the crowd, he could not stop him, 
and away like lightning, he sped across the dusty 
plain. The blacks followed, but such pursuit was 
useless, that poor horse was roused — he was upon his 
last long gallop, and that gallop was a speedy one. A 
very few moments sufficed to place him beyond the 
reach of their spears, and a little more, the blacks were 
specks upon the plain— a little more they had vanished 
out of sight. 

Still the horse did not slacken — Arthur had no 
strength with which to pull him in, his left arm was 
powerless, his right arm felt weak and unable to make 
the effort its owner wished. Presently the pace 
diminished — the poor animal’s steps appeared to falter, 
and then he almost stopped. His wild career was 
over, he stood stock still. 

Dismounting, his rider examined his hurts — were 
they fatal ? The first spear wound was only in the 
flesh, but the second seemed an ugly one indeed. 

16 * 


370 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


Binding it up as well as lie could, Arthur looked to 
himself. 

His wound was not severe, though very painful, 
and he felt he had indeed experienced a miraculous 
escape. 

But was it an escape ? What was to come next ? 
True, he had, for the time, escaped his human ene- 
mies, but here he was upon the plains, a wounded 
horse on which to ride, the nearest habitation some 
hundred miles away. What he must do would be to 
make for the creek. 

“The creek,” and he shuddered as he thought, 
that here, perhaps, was after all his fate. Gould his 
horse goon? Yes, he thought so; and remounting, 
he urged him on. 

The poor animal w T ent gamely enough. All 
through the night they travelled. Arthur had made 
up his mind to steer for the creek, and pass, if he 
could, a shepherd’s hut he knew of, which should lie 
in his way. 

The man was not often there, but it would be a 
shelter, and he might, perchance, find food and drink 
therein. 

Next morning, when daylight appeared, he looked 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


371 


around him — where was he ? He could not say— the 
country was unfamiliar. In what direction lay the 
creek — alas, he had to own to himself he did not know. 

The hut ? Ho, he knew not either where that 
might be. And when this awful fact burst upon him, 
our hero felt the first discouragement of despair. 

He dismounted, and prepared to rest — but the sun 
arose, and seemed to boil him through and through. 
His horse would die in that sun — they must move on, 
and find the creek. Better to die on the road than 
sit thus baking there. 

So remounting, Arthur started off again, and the 
suffering animal seemed to exhibit pleasure at once 
more being permitted to resume the journey. And as 
the horse neighed, Arthur felt a renewal of hope — per- 
haps he could smell the water, he thought — perhaps 
he could find the way. 

Thus for hours, long weary hours, they jogged 
along. How many miles they had traversed, he could 
never guess, but many more, he knew, than anyone 
would have believed the horse was able to accomplish. 
It was some eighteen hours since they had started — 
he felt quite dizzy by now. 

The pain in his arm had made him faint, and it was 


372 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


with difficulty he could hold himself upon his saddle. 
His head was swimming, the plain revolved around 
him, then it seemed to fly up and strike him — there 
was a terrible crash — all was dark — he knew no more. 

When he came to, he was lying there upon the 
ground ; how long he had lain thus he could not say — 
perhaps an hour, perhaps a day. Where was he, what 
had happened, what was this awful pain, this agony 
he felt when endeavoring to rise t He knew now — 
his leg was broken. And his horse ? There, dead by 
his side, lay the gallant beast. 

His sufferings were over, and he stretched there 
stark and cold upon the plain. 

“ He is happier than I,” thought Arthur, “ for he 
is dead already, and I must slowly perish. I cannot 
move — and oh, this awful thirst.” 

And then he raised his eyes, and saw a sight which 
made them dance with light — his heart beat high with 
hope. It was the sparkle of water. There, scarce a 
quarter of a mile away, lay the creek, all shimmering 
in the sun. The poor horse had been right then, after 
all. He had found his way towards what might have 
saved them both, and then died within the sight of 
safety — he had fallen just five minutes too soon, and 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


373 


in falling had disabled his rider, whom he had so 
nearly rescued from the most awful of deaths. Then 
this sudden born hope went out. 

“ How can I get there,” thought Arthur, “ I cannot 
move.” 

And the full horror of his situation burst upon him. 
He railed aloud at his dreadful fate — there before him 
lay the water, mocking his parched lips, and seeming 
to deride his frantic thirst. And there lay he, help- 
less, and unable to touch that cooling draught. 

Some ten yards he dragged himself, and then he 
fain must stop. Ten more he crawled, and then sank 
back exhausted once again. 

The pangs of hunger were now adding themselves 
to those of thirst — what should he do — what could he 
do? 

“ Ah ” — and then he shuddered at his unspoken 
thought. Yes, it must be— he would save his life by 
eating the flesh and drinking the blood of his poor 
dead friend, his gallant horse. 

Why not? Ho time for sentiment this — his life 
was at stake, and he would not— could not, die. 

How lightly we talk of death, and yet how all of 


374 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


us fear to die. Arthur determined to save himself 
thus — but how ? 

Once more he realized the torments of Tantalus. 
There lay the carcass, which might have saved his life, 
and there again lay he — it could not come to him, nor 
he go to it. 

Why had he dragged himself those twenty yards — 
why had he so recklessly moved from where, at least 
he could have lived ? Why ? — but what availed regret ? 

Thus, he could only rail at fate, while dying of 
hunger, dying of thirst. On one side of him, the 
river, — on the other, food which might have saved his 
life. 

But though he could not satisfy his cravings of 
hunger, there were others who could. For now there 
arose from all around, that most dreaded cry — the 
wild crows’ call — “ aah — aah — aah ” — it went like some 
evil spirit who welcomes at the gates of Hell. 

<£ Aah — aah ” — from every side there came this 
weird sound — they had scented flesh, and were sum- 
moning to the feast. 

Then a new alarm struck Arthur ; hunger and 
thirst were bad enough, but such a death as this — 
would they eat him also ? 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


375 


“ 01 b never,” lie cried aloud, “ I can keep them 
off— Oh, horrible— horror of horrors, while yet alive 
—my God, not that.” 

What use to cry, poor fellow, lying there upon the 
ground, weak and helpless as any child. That brave 
spirit which had never quailed before a human foe, 
breaking down before a bird— but what a bird ! “ Aali 
— aali” — a bird of ill omen — a bird of death. 

They had done their horrid feast — they were sit- 
ting round him now— how long would they sit thus ? 
Would they wait — could they wait? Yes, they were 
waiting, and he felt that it was for himself they 
showed their patience thus. 

“ Oh, this is too awful,” he moaned again, and 
once more struggled to rise and flee. He crawled a 
few yards — a very few — but his movement sufficed to 
disturb his ghastly visitors, and flapping their heavy 
wings, they soared aloft. 

Had they gone ? Ho, only changed their position 
— they once again alighted — hopped along the ground, 
and then recommenced their patient vigil. Would 
they attack him ? 

Arthur thought not, no, they would only wait* 
And then he thought of that day at Currendore when 


376 


AN AWFUL FATE. 


lie and McBride had remarked how weird and gloomy 
it was, and he, Arthur, had actually said that he could 
imagine no more awful death than this, to lie disabled 
upon the plains and crows awaiting your decease. 

This had made him shudder then in fancy only — 
now it was true, yes, actually true. He was awake, he 
was not dreaming ; he, Arthur Dacre, was lying there 
upon the ground weak and faint, dying slowly and 
surely, while beside him sat those carrion crows, cry- 
ing “ aah — aah” — as they waited for his flesh. They 
were closer now ; one bird, more bold than the rest, 
had approached him near. He raised his arm, and 
struck at it a feeble blow. It flew away, just one 
little hop, which removed it but slightly beyond his 
reach ; and the others, encouraged by this partial suc- 
cess, were drawing in. 

“Can I bear it?” he said again, “My God, can 
nothing save me ?” 

And as he spoke, the weakness seized him, his 
head began to swim, the sky above him moved, the 
birds around were dancing in the air, the earth 
beneath appeared to heave, his head fell back, and he 
knew no more. 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


377 


CHAPTEK XXXIII. 

HARMLESS FICTIONS. 

“ Many seek for peace and riches, 

Length of days and life of ease, 

I have sought for one thing which is 
Fairer unto me than these. ’’—Gordon. 

I FEAR it will here be necessary to take a short 
retrospective glance at the other characters in our 
story. Two years ago, we left Edith Darvell and her 
husband at Melbourne — they were driving through Col- 
lins Street on their way home. 

“ There go those jolly swells, 1 ” some passer-by had 
said, and we, who knew the real facts of the case 
could scarcely join him in the envy which accompa- 
nied this very inappropriate remark. 

It was not many days before this unfortunate 
couple sailed for Europe. Darvell had remained half 
stupefied ever since his meeting with Arthur 
Dacre. 

It almost seemed incredible how this light-hearted 
debonair man had suddenly collapsed into a feeble 
and half-idiotic specimen of humanity. 


378 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


Bat when a strong man breaks, he, as a rule goes 
all to pieces. All the life seemed to have gone out of 
Darvell. His wife arranged everything — perhaps had 
it been left to him, he might not have elected to 
return home. But he seemed now to have no will of 
his own, and though he drank before, it was as 
nothing to the manner in which he now sought that 
insidious consolation. 

And hence, he developed “ nerves he became 
querulous and puerile, tryiny the patience of his 
plucky wife to the utmost limit. But she never fal- 
tered in her duty one single instant. She ministered 
to all his wants, and though she could not prevent her 
husband from drinking, yet strove to mitigate its ill 
effects. 

At sea, Darvell became so bad, that the captain 
was obliged to place him under restraint. After a 
week of this, which sobered him, he was released 
cured. Then he appeared to experience a return to 
his former self— his consciousness of shame deepened, 
his tenderness for his wife increased. 

When this fit was on him, she shrank from his 
caresses, though she could not check his tirades of 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


379 


self reproach, and lachyrmose promises of future 
amendment. 

In whatever mood he was, she bore with him. 
What a woman she was ! But there are many of these 
domestic heroines all around us walking along the 
thorny road without a murmur, bearing their cross 
with a nobility for which we seldom give them 
credit. 

But poor Edith’s trials were to end. Had she 
been asked, she would have begged they might con- 
tinue for all time. 

Ho woman, or perhaps I should say, few women, 
care to be released by violent means. But yet, in this 
case there was little violence. Merely a splash — a cry 
— and next day an empty chair. 

It was Darvell’s chair which was empty — it was he 
who made the splash as he sprang overboard after a 
prolonged fit of depression — and the cry was the cry 
he gave, as the huge ship went speeding on, leaving 
him to a watery grave. 

It was a sad ending — but it was not to be expected 
that his widow should grieve over much. She would 
not so have ordered it, we know ; but yet it was free- 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


dom which she had found — freedom from trouble — 
freedom from humiliation and regret. 

In London once again, she led a quiet, uneventful 
life, during her months of mourning, or rather retire- 
ment, for how could she mourn a man such as her 
husband had proved to be. At the end of this period 
she re-entered the world. She was young, passably 
rich, and a widow. 

Naturally she was a success — the world was at her 
feet. She was courted, sought after, and admired. 
But she cared little for this homage, and soon wearied 
of the life she led. All offers to change her state she 
refused. 

All this time, she had heard nothing of Arthur, 
where he was, or what he was doing, she could never 
learn. He had not written, and she could scarcely 
write to him. 

And though he knew so little of her, all London 
pretended that it knew much. And yet men told 
each other that though Mrs. Darvell was a fascinating 
widow, it was about as much use to try and win her 
affections as to soften a mill stone, — why, they could 
not tell. 

No, but Mrs. Darvell could tell — it was because 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


381 


those affections were given to another. Who was he? 
Well, the same person who had won them years ago, 
the only man she had ever really loved, Arthur Dacre, 
the dream of her girlhood’s days. 

Yes, there was no disguising the fact — she loved 
him still. Would he not come to her? Apparently 
not. Could she not gain news of him ? Apparently 
not. What should she do — go to him ? No, how 
could she, such a course was madness — folly ; he might 
be married, he might be dead, and yet something told 
her that he was neither. What did she do then ? 
She did what she had said was impossible — she went 
to him. 

Yes, one day, it was announced that “the pretty 
Mrs. Darvell, that rich widow with the stony heart, 
don’t you know” was going for a trip to Australia for 
her health. “ For her health !” What little fictions 
the best of us will weave. But could you expect her 
to announce in the Morning Post that she had gone 
for the good of her heart ? Scarcely — but yet that 
was the real reason. 

Arrived in Melbourne, Mrs. Darvell stayed a short 
time with some of her former friends. Of course it 
had never leaked out why she and her husband had so 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


soon hurried home after their very brief stay in that 
city. Thus it came about that pretty Mrs. Darvell 
once again adorned “ The Block,” or ornamented the 
Governor’s box , and that observant man in the street 
who had once envied “ those jolly swells ” might now, 
with some justice, have looked upon that beautiful 
face and thought how good a thing it must be to be a 
woman, rich and happy — and yet — was she happy ? 
Not yet. She had set herself a task and with a nature 
such as hers, till that task was accomplished she could 
scarcely be considered content. 

How should she achieve her end? By inquiry. 
And so, cautiously and artfully, she inquired, as though 
she did not care at all. But the answers were unsat- 
isfactory. Arthur Dacre had gone to Queensland two 
years ago, and had never reappeared since. 

With assumed indifference, Mrs. Darvell dismissed 
the subject — it scarcely interested her — she had known 
Mr. Dacre so slightly. 

But it was curious that not very long after this, she 
was studying guide books to Queensland, asking for 
introductions there, and declaring that it had always 
been the dearest wish of her life to stay up country in 
that delightfully wild spot. The Darling Downs — 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


383 


weren’t they in Queensland? Why, that was just 
where her doctor had told her she ought to go. And 
besides that, there were other places she could only 
arrive at from Brisbane, which she had quite set her 
heart on seeing. 

So, armed with her letters, and brimming with 
plans, Mrs. Darvell set sail from Sydney intent upon 
enjoying the hospitality of the Queenslanders, and 
spying out the curiosities of their land. 

If they had only known how put on all that inter- 
est was — how unreal this thirst for information as to 
the animals she would encounter during her travels. 

There was only one animal she cared a fig about — 
and that animal was a man. In Brisbane, Mrs. Dar- 
vell heard later news of this man. She heard how he 
had gone up country to live on a station away from 
civilization, among the blacks — a station, indeed, where 
his predecessor had been killed. “ Was he killed 
too?” No, they had never heard so ; on the contrary 
it was said that Arthur Dacre had made a good thing 
out of it, and was doing uncommonly well. It was 
then a curious coincidence, surely, which made Mrs. 
Darvell develop an intense longing to see real Queens- 
land blacks. 


S84 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


She didn’t mean those sham ones, who loafed 
about the townships, but real bona-lide blacks, such 
ones as had been those who murdered that poor man 
they were telling her about. 

She wanted to go up country — couldn’t she ? Was 
it too rough ? Among her letters, she had one to a 
Mr. Moore, who lived quite in the wilds — did any one 
know him ? 

Should she see real bush life there — and were there 
any blacks ? 

Yes, they told her if she visited Mr. Moore, she 
would undoubtedly see real bush life and real blacks. 
Thus it happened that that quiet gentleman was one 
day considerably startled by receiving a letter in a 
feminine hand, reminding him that the writer had 
met him once in London, years ago, and he, Mr. 
Moore, had told her not to forget to visit him if ever 
she (the writer) should chance to find herself in 
Queensland. She was in Queensland, and would like 
to take him at his word. 

The poor proprietor of Elwah hastened to assure 
her that she would receive a real bush welcome at his 
homestead , and before many days had elapsed, Mrs. 


HARMLESS FICTIONS. 


385 


Joseph Darvell was comfortably installed as a guest at 
this hospitable but remote station. 

“Yes, it was true there were no neighbors, but 
there was a neighbor, an Englishman, Mr. Dacre, who 
lived all alone at Ormidalla, some hundred miles 
away. He seldom came over — he was an unsociable 
fellow, but what they had seen of him they liked.” 

Thus spoke Mr. Moore. 

“ Dacre — Mr. Arthur Dacre, by any chance ?” 
asked his guest, innocently, “ I used to know a Mr. 
Arthur Dacre once.” 

“Yes, Arthur, that is his name,” replied her host, 
“ a bit of a swell in the old country, who sowed his 
wild oats to such an extent that he had to come out 
here to plant a crop of sheep to meet the losses of his 
first harvest, ha, ha,” and the old gentleman chuckled 
at his joke. “ But I’ll ask him to come over here and 1 
meet you, Mrs. Darvell, though I fear the poor fel- 
low will be scared at the idea of meeting a lady. I 
have it though,” he went on, rubbing his hands, “ I 
won’t tell him you are here.” 

“ Yes, that would be best,” replied Edith, her 
heart beating high at the thoughts of the probability 

of once more meeting the lover of her girlhood. 

17 


386 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


Will he be changed, she wondered — does he still 
care for me, will he be astonished at meeting me, 
how will he meet me ? 

These, and similar questions, she asked herself, 
with, as you may suppose, but little result. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 

“Does my voice sound thick and husky? 

Is my hand no longer warm? 

Round that neck where pearls look dusky 
Let me once more wind my arm. 

Rest my head upon that shoulder, 

Where it rested oft of yore; 

Warm and white yet seeming colder 
Now than ere it seemed before.” — Gordon 


P OOR Mr. Moore did his best to amuse his guest ; 

he enjoyed her society, but it seemed terrible 
to him that he could not better entertain her. All 
day long he was inventing plans for her amusement 
despite her entreaties that all she required was quiet, 
and to be allowed to make .herself as useful as a wo- 
man in the bush could be. 

All old bachelors have an idea that every woman 
lives and pants for amusement — perhaps this is the rea- 
son they are old bachelors — who knows ? 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


387 


Mr. Moore’s maiden sister lived with him, and 
this rather dull lady, whose ideas in the matter of 
dress, had stood still twenty years ago, scarcely knew 
what to make of this new addition to their little cir- 
cle. 

Edith was fond of riding, and was never tired of 
exercising the dogs, and sometimes pursuing, with 
them, the kangaroos they came across. 

Mr. Moore had some very fine greyhounds — these 
were his hobby, and nothing he loved better than to 
take them out and give them a spin after some fine old 
man kangaroo, who would defy their fleetest speed. 
The cart used to follow with another couple of hounds, 
so that after one run, the dogs could be put in the 
cart, and fresh ones taken in their place. 

One day, they had been hunting thus ; an unprece- 
dently straight run had left them a long, long way 
from home. After resting their horses, as they were 
preparing to return, they met the cart. The dogs were 
placed within it, and then, the other couple barking 
and begging to be let out, Mrs. Darvell, as a woman 
will, interceded for them, and entreated that they, too, 
might be allowed just one little spin. 

Rather unwillingly, her host grunted assent. His 


383 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


horse was tired, and so was he, but he couldn’t well 
refuse anything to this charming lady, who had sud- 
denly beamed upon his life like a ray of light. Ac- 
cordingly the dogs were let out, and before long, a 
kangaroo was sighted, and the run began. 

What a run that was. An old man kangaroo w r ent 
speeding across the plain, after him the dogs, and after 
them went Mr. Moore and Edith. The horse of the 
former was blown and he soon pulled him in, and con- 
tented himself with sitting still and watching the fair 
form of the lady disappearing in the distance. 

Her horse was not tired — her light weight and 
light hands had not wearied it. He was still almost as 
keen as his rider, and as the hounds went, so went he. 

On and on across the plains, in and out among the 
trees, wherever they chanced across them in their 
path. On the old man ran, on the hounds pursued, 
after them the lady urging on her horse. They had 
got to him now, he was visibly slackening his speed — 
he would soon turn round at bay. 

“ Have a care, good dogs, lest he rip you up with 
his arms ; here, Pointer, hi — here, Fyser, stay, be 
active now, or that sharp arm will cut you like a 
knife — wait till I come,” shouted the fair equestrienne 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


389 


in her excitement, “I will help yon,” as though the 
dogs could understand. “ Here, Pointer, I’m coming, 
hi, good dog,” and the horse, as though sharing the 
eagerness of his rider, bore her on. She reached 
them ; the old man was now at bay, the dogs were on 
him now. With one stroke of his arm, he laid poor 
Pointer low — Fyser seized him by the throat — there 
was a struggle, a gurgle, then all was over. 

And when Mrs. Darvell arrived upon the scene 
the old man kangaroo was dead. 

She dismounted — no fear of her horse escaping; 
brave animal, he was fain to rest. She gazed upon the 
dying dog, and then upon the kangaroo. “ That poor 
— poor dog.” 

She raised her eyes to look around for help — was 
Mr. Moore coming ; the excitement over, she wished 
for aid. She had galloped on alone to see the end, 
and now the end was here, she longed for help to save 
the dog or kill it, and place it out of misery. And as 
she raised her eyes — she saw — not Mr. Moore, that 
good gentleman was miles away— but something, was 
it a man ? What could it be, this something upon the 
ground ? 

It was some hundred yards from where she stood 


390 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


—crows were screeching in the air, crows she had dis- 
turbed as she arrived, but thought that some dead 
sheep had been the cause of their assemblage here. 

She walked forward now, half frightened, and jet 
curious as ever her mother Eve. Here was a dead 
horse, its skeleton was almost bare. 

Heavens, could that yonder be a man ? Nearer she 
went, and nearer — it was — it was a man. A man ! 
Oh, no, it is a corpse.” 

She went towards it, and as she approached, the 
crows’ mournful “ aah — aah” — was borne upon the air. 

She knelt down beside him. Poor fellow, was he 
dead ? She raised his head — “ ah, merciful heavens, 
this pale, dead face, what is it — whose is it ?” 

Good God, it is her love, and he is dead. She has 
found him, and he is dead. She smooths his hair, she 
caresses his brow, that brow is cold and chill, but his 
heart is beating yet. 

“ Arthur,” she cries, “ my love, my boy, oh, 
answer me, my love. Oh, come back to me, come 
back to me once more,” and crying thus, she bends 
right forward, and plants a kiss upon his lips. 

What is this — a sigh escapes him, he lives — he is 
alive. Rapture seizes her, she is mad, perhaps, nor 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


391 


cares she what she does. Again she kisses those poor, 
cold lips, again they sigh, each kiss renews his life. 
That fragrant breath sends strength into his lungs, his 
eyes are opened, he lives, he lives. He sees those 
other eyes that gaze upon his face — he smiles. 

“ Ah, Paradise,” he says, at length, “ ah, dying is 
not so bad then, after all. My darling, to think that 
you should meet me here.” 

“ Arthur, Arthur,” she cries, “ you are not dead — 
you live.” And very practically, she proved her 
words by providing a little silver flask and pouring 
brandy down his throat. 

“ Where am I ?” were the words which rewarded 
this action, “ what is this ? Edith — is it possible ? 
No, it cannot be, it can’t be you.” 

“Yes, Arthur, it is,” she replied, blushing, now 
that he had recognized her as still an inhabitant of 
earth. Providence must have sent me here, and 
let me save you. Oh, do not die — do not leave me . 
now.” 

“ I cannot understand,” he faltered, “ but all I 
want is here, you are here, I live, and will recover. 
Put your arms around me, so. Ah, now I am alive, 
’tis well to have suffered, if this be my reward. My 


003 


A KANGAROO HUNT. 


darling, my only love, if 1 had died ere this, it would 
have been a death indeed. But now, all earth is 
bright, I breathe fresh life again.” 

Note. — T he above miraculous rescue actually occurred. — 
Author. 


THE END. 


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Lives of the Apostles. Do. ... 1 75 | The Bible in India — Byjacolliot. 200 

G. W. Carleton. 

Our Artist in Cuba, Peru, Spain and Algiers — 150 Caricatures of Travel $1 00 

M. M. Pomeroy (Brick). 


Nonsense 
Brick-dust. Do. 

Home Harmonies 


comic book) $1 50 

1 50 


Sense. A serious book $1 50 

Gold Dust. Do. 1 50 

Our Saturday Nights x 50 

Miscellaneous W^orks. 

Carleton’s Hand-Book of Popular Quotations — With their authorship 

Carleton’s Classical Dictionary — A Condensed Mythology for popular use. 

Fifty Years among Authors, Books and Publishers — By J. C. Derby.... 

Children’s Fairy Geography — Witu hundreds of beautiful illustrations 

Carleton’s Popular Readings — Edited by Anna Randall Diehl. 2 vols., each 

Laus Veneris, and other Poems — By Algernon Charles Swinburne 1 50 

Sawed-off Sketches — Comicbook by “ Detroit Free Press Man.” Illustrated 1 50 
Hawk-eye Sketches — Comic book by “ Burlington Hawk-eye Man.” Do. 1 ;o 
The Culprit Fay — Joseph Rodman Drake’s Poem. With 100 illustrations... 2 00 
Parlor Amusements — Games, Tricks, Home Amusements, by Frank Bellew. 1 00 
Love [L’ Amour] — English Translation from Michelet’s famous French work. 1 
Woman [La Femme] — The Sequel to “ L’Amour.” • Do. _ Do. _ 1 

Verdant Green — A racy English college story. With 200 comic illustrations. 1 

Clear Light from the Spirit World — By Kate Irving 1 

Bottom Facts Concerning Spiritualism — By John W. Truesdell 1 

Why Wife and I Quarreled — Poepx by the author of “ Betsy and I are Out.” 1 
A Northern Governess at the Sunny South — By Professor J. H. Ingraham. 1 
Birds of a Feather Flock Together — By Edward A. Sothern, the actor ... 1 
Yachtman’s Primer —Correct Instructions for Amateur Sailors. By Warren. 
Longfellow’s Home Life — By Blanche Roosevelt Machetta. Illustrated... 1 
Every-Day Home Advice — For Household and Domestic Economy. ....... 1 50 

Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Etiquette Book of the best Fashionable Society. 1 00 
Love and Marriage — A book for unmarried people. By Frederick Saunders. 1 00 

Under the Rose — A Capital book, by the author of “ East Lynne 1 00 

So Dear a Dream — A novel by Miss Grant, author of “ The Sun Maid.’ 1 00 

Give me thine Heart — A capital new domestic Love Story by Roe •• 1 00 

Meeting her Fate — A charming novel by the author of “ Aurora Floyd. ... 1 00 

Faithful to the End — A delightful domestic novel by Roe 1 00 

So True a Love — A novel by Miss Grant, author of “The Sun Maid.’ 1 00 

True as Gold — A charming domestic story by Roe 1 00 


1 50 

M 5° 
75 

2 00 
1 00 

1 50 


G. IV. DIL LING IIA APS PUBLICATIONS. 


A Naughty Girl’s Diary $ 50 

A Good Boy’s Diary 50 

Bad Boy’s Reader — F. Bellew.. 10 
Abijah Beanpole in New York. 50 
Never — Companion to “ Don’t.”.. 25 
Always — By author of “Never.”.. 25 
Stop — By author of “ Never.” . ... 25 

Smart Sayings of Children— Paul 1 00 

Crazy History of the U. S 50 

Cats, Cooks, etc. — By E._T. Ely..__ 50 


Humorous Works. 


West India Pickles. W.P.Talboys$i 00 

The Comic Liar — ByAlden 1 

Store Drumming as a Fine Art. 
Mr.Spriggins — By WidowBedott. 1 
Phemie Frost — Ann S. Stephens. 1 
That Awful Boy — N. Y. Weekly. 

That Bridget of Ours. Do. 

Orpheus C.Kerr — Four vols.in one. 2 

Ingglish az she iz Spelt 

Man Abroad 


Dawn to Noon — By Violet Fane. 
Constance’s Fate. Do. .. 1 
French Love Songs — Translated. 
Lion Jack — By P. T. Barnum.... 1 

Jack in the Jungle. Do. 1 

How to Win in Wall Street.... 
The Life of Sarah Bernhardt. .. 
Arctic Travels — By Dr. Hayes.. 1 

Whist for Beginners 

Flashes from “Ouida.” 1 

Lady Blake’s Love Letters ... 
Lone Ranch — By Mayne Reid. . . 1 
The Train Boy — Horatio Alger.. 1 
Dan, The Detective. Do. .. 1 


Miscellaneous Works. 


Gospels in Poetry — E.H. Kimball. ^ 

The Life of Victor Hugo 

Don Quixote. Illustrated 

Arabian Nights. Do 

Robinson Crusoe. Do 

Swiss Family Robinson — Illus.. 
Debatable Land— R. Dale Owen. 
Threading My Way. Do. 
Spiritualism — By D. D. Home... 
Fanny Fern Memorials — Parton 
Northern Ballads-E. L.Anderson 
Stories about Doctors — Jeffreson 
Stories about Lawyers. Do. 


Doctor Antonio — By Ruffini $1 50 

Beatrice Cenci — From the Italian. 1 50 

The Story of Mary 1 50 

Madame — By Frank Lee Benedict 1 50 
A Late Remorse. Do. 1 50 

Hammer and Anvil. Do. x 50 

Her Friend Laurence. Do. 1 50 

Mignonnette — By Sangr^e 100 

Jessica — By Mrs. W. H. White..., 1 50 

Women of To-day. Do 1 50 

The Baroness — Joaquin Miller... x 50 
One Fair Woman. Do. ... 1 50 
TheBurnhams — Mrs.G.E. Stewart 2 00 
Eugene Ridgewood — Paul James x 50 
Braxton’s Bar — R. M. Daggett.. 1 50 
Miss Beck — -By Tilbury Holt.. . 1 50 

A Wayward Life 1 00 

Winning Winds — Emerson 1 50 

A CollegeWidow — C.H. Seymour 1 50 
Me — By Mrs. Spencer W. Coe.... 50 

Peace Pelican — Fannie Smith... 1 50 
Hidden Power — T. H. Tibbies. . . 1 50 

Two of Us — Calista Halsey 75 

Cupid on Crutches — A. B. Wood. 75 
ParsonThorne — E.M. Buckingham 1 50 

Errors — By Ruth Carter 1 50 

UnmistakableFlirtation — Garner 75 
Wild Oats — Florence Marryatt... 1 50 
Widow Cherry — B. L. Farjeon.. 25 
Solomon Isaacs. Do. .. 50 

Doctor Mortimer — Fannie Bean. 1 50 
Two Brides — Bernard O’Reilly.. 1 50 
Louise and I — By Chas. Dodge.. 1 50 

My Queen — By Sandette 1 50 

Fallen among Thieves — Rayne. 1 50 
Saint Leger — Richard K. Kimball 1 75 


Miscellaneous Novels. 


Do. 

Do. 

Do. 

Do. 


Was He Successful ? — Kimball 
Undercurrents of Wall St. Do 
Romance of Student Life. 

To-day. 

Life in San Domingo. 

Henry Powers, Banker. 

Led Astray — By Octave Feuillet. 
Boscobel, a Winter in Florida. . 

The Darling of an Empire 1 

Confessions of Two 1 

Nina’s Peril — By Mrs. Miller.... 1 
Marguerite’s Journal — For Girls 1 
Rose of Memphis — W.C.Falkner 1 
Spell-Bound — Alexandre Dumas. 
Purple and Fine Linen — Fawcett 1 
Pauline’s Trial — L. D. Courtney. 1 
The Forgiving Kiss — M. Loth.. 1 
Measure for Measure — Stanley.. 1 
Charette — An American novel .... 1 
Fairfax — By John Esten Cooke. .. 1 
Hilt to Hilt. Do. 1 

Out of the Foam. Do. 1 

Hammer and Rapier. Do. 1 

Kenneth — By Sallie A. Brock.... 1 
Heart Hungry. Mrs. Westmoreland 1 
Clifford Troupe. Do. 1 

Price of a Life — R. F. Sturgis. .. 1 

Marston Hall — L. Ella Byrd 1 

Conquered — By a New Author... 1 
Tales from the Popular Operas. 1 
Edith Murray — Joanna Mathews 1 
San Miniato — Mrs. C.V. Hamilton. 1 
All for Her — A Tale of New York. 1 
L’Assommoir — Zola’s great novel 1 

Vesta Vane — By L. King, R 1 

Walworth’s Novels — Sixvols... 1 


5 ° 

5 ° 

50 

5 ° 

5 ° 

5 ° 

00 

25 

25 

5 ° 

50 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

So 

00 

00 

00 

50 

50 


75 

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75 

75 

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